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CARL MARIA VON WEBER. 


THE LIFE OF AN ARTIST. 


From the German of his Son, 


BARON MAX MARIA VON WEBER. 


BY 
J. PALGRAVE SIMPSON, M.A., 


AUTHOR OF ‘‘ PICTURES FROM REVOLUTIONARY PARIS,” “‘ LETTERS 
FROM THE DANUBE,” ETC, 


IN TWO VOLUMES. 


WO. TE. 
BOSTON: - 
OLIVER DITSON COMPANY. 
NEWYORK: CHICAGO: PHILA: BOSTON: 


C. H, Ditson & Co, Lyon & Healy, J, E. Ditson & Co. John C. Haynes & Co, 


Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2008 with funding from 
= Microsoft Corporation 


http://www. archive.org/details/carlmariavonwebe01webe 


ea 


Music 
Library 


LA) 


PREFAOE « 


THE task which Baron Max Maria von Weber, the son of the 
great composer, the story of whose life is here told, undertook in 
preparing a complete biography of his father, was one of no ordi- 
nary difficulty. For many years he resisted the entreaties of his 
widowed mother to compose the work, from scruples which did honor 
to his heart and sense. On the ee he feared the accusation 
of a want of impartiality in writing of a father whose memory he re- 
garded with as much pride as affection: on the other, he felt a natural 
delicacy in treating a subject, many persons connected with which 
were still in existence, and more especially as regarded the great artist’s 
troubled sphere of action in a country with which he himself was offici- 
ally connected. His own scanty musical science he also considered an 
impediment in his way. But in process of time, as the memorials of 
his father, which he had been long collecting, gradually formed so con- 
siderable a portion of his daily thoughts and deeds, these scruples 
were in some degree modified, in some degree obliterated. Time, with 
all its political and social changes, had prepared the way for freedom 
of speech; rivalries and antipathies had been swept away from the 
stage of the world. For true impartiality, he considered that he could 
trust to his own honesty of purpose. The feeling of his own deficiency 
in musical science vanished before newly-conceived ideas of what the 
true tendency of such a biography ought to be. ‘‘ Mendelssohn says 
somewhere in his letters,’? writes the author of the German work in his 
own preface, ‘‘that, if any one could describe music with words, he 
himself would never write another note; and Weber also said to his 
friend Lichtenstein, ‘I can write nothing about my works. Hear them 
played! In my music you will find myself.’ In these remarks, then, 
lay the rule for the best treatment of the biography of an artist. Let 
him be known as man, when already loved and honored in his works as 
arust.’’ From any detailed criticism of the works of the great com- 
poser, his son has, consequently, abstained, upon the principle that 

3 


44410495 


4 PREFACE. 


words would convey but little meaning to those who did not know his 
music ; whilst, to those who did, many words were unnecessary. With 
this conviction he has principally endeavored to relate the circumstan- 
ces and events of the artist’s life, and the feelings induced by them in 
his mind, as they stood in relation to the creations of his genius, and, in 
logical deduction, the re-active influence of those creations on the out- 
ward world around him. For the interest he excites he has relied upon 
a minute picture of the man, who, as artist, achieved so much, and suf- 
fered so much. He has presented him as he lived, as he wandered and 
thought, as he langhed or wept, as he triumphed or despaired. He has 
invited his reader to sit by Weber’s table amidst his family and friends, 
to lean over his shoulder as he worked, to watch him playing with his 
children or his dog and ape, to see him directing in his orchestra, to 
hear the beatings of his heart. He has presented the artist not so much 
with lyre in his hand, and laurel-wreath upon his brow, as in his long 
coat or his strange court attire, by turns the weary wanderer, the 
lover, the husband, and the court official. 

Baron Max Maria von Weber has preferred to write his biography 
without that profusion of references, explanatory notes, and pieces de 
Justification, with which such works are sometimes overladen. He has 
trusted to the implicit belief on the part of the reader in the truth of all 
his details. Materials for his work were amply supplied to him by 
notices in journals, pamphlets, and other works of the period; by the 
literary, musical, ecclesiastical, or governmental archives, which were 
everywhere opened to him with liberality; above ail, by the volumi- 
nous correspondence either addressed to Weber and his family, or 
proceeding from the composer’s own pen. Much was necessarily to be 
derived from that diary which Weber himself compiled, with scarcely 
any intermission, from the 26th of Febuary, 1810, up to within three 
days before his death; but not to the extent that may be supposed from 
such a term as ‘‘diary.”” Domestic details and accounts are to be 
found in it in profusion. But even the greatest events of his own life 
the composer mentions in this record in but brief and scanty lines. 
For the purpose of fixing dates, however, it appears to have been of 
considerable value. The reminiscences of contemporaries, whether 
given by writing or word of mouth, and even the family traditions of 
the household, the author appears to have used with singular but honest 
caution. He found that the stream of time had so much effaced the 
strongest impressions as to leave the traces of memory confused, and 
not altogether reliable. ‘‘I have even found events,’’ he writes in his 
own preface, ‘“‘sundered by a considerable lapse of time, laid before me 
as having happened at one and the same period.”’ ‘‘I have not entirely 


int al 


PREFACE, § 


excepted from this mistrust my own father’s letters,’’ he writes again, 
‘‘when they were addressed to that beloved wife to whom his life and 
fame were more dear than to himself, and who looked forward to every 
line from his hand with strong nervous excitement. Without one mo- 
ment falsifying the truth, he naturally placed events in the light most 
pleasant to the woman whose happiness and peace of mind were so 
infinitely precious to him.’? With the personal appearance of the great 
composer his son has dealt with equal impartiality, deriving his de- 
scriptions from the best and most thoroughly reliable sources. 

With such strict conscientiousness of intention throughout his whole 
delicate work, the author has certainly earned himself every title to the 
implicit trust of his reader. In not one instance has he filled up gaps 
in events by drawing upon his own imagination, however likely to be 
correct. On the other hand, he has never been restrained by any partial 
feeling from Jaying bare blots in the character of the artist during the 
period of his youthful follies and excesses. ‘‘ The truth, the whole 
truth, and nothing but the truth,’ seems to have been the author’s 
maxim. ‘To have left the shadows of his errors out of my picture,’ he 
says himself, “‘ would have been to have avowed, in coward spirit, that 
the lights in his character had not sufficient, and more than sufficient, 
brilliancy to throw the darker tints altogether into the background.”’ 

With Weber’s painful position at the court of Saxony, his son, now a 
high government official in the same country, had necessarily to deal 
with a certain degree of delicacy; but there is no doubt, at the same 
time, that he has painted with a bold and firm hand the period of his 
father’s unmerited and humiliating treatment by a portion of the Saxon 
court. 

Admirable as is Baron von Weber’s biography of his father, on the 
compilation of which he has employed all his spare time during seven 
long years, it presents a far too voluminous form to be laid before an 
English public in its entirety. It has been necessary, consequently, to 
condense it throughout in its English garb, and even in some portions 
to reconstruct it. F requently, when there occurred. long biographical 
notices of artists of a secondary rank in Germany, and wholly unknown 
in England, with whom the great composer was thrown together, they 
have been wholly omitted; but it may conscientiously be asserted that 
nothing, either in event or feeling, connected with Weber's life, which 
in any way could interest an English reader, has been allowed to slip 
aside in the difficult process of condensation. 


Lonpon, January, 1865. Jf Jets 


CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 





CHAPTER I. 


CARL MARIA VON WEBER’S FAMILY.— HIS BIRTH ° 


CHAPTER II. 


AN ARTIST’S CHILDHOOD . : . . . e e 


CHAPTER III. 


THE Boy’s First OPERA.— FREIBERG AND SALZBURG 


VIENNA AND THE ABBE VOGLER ~ : ° e . 
CHAPTER YV. 
WEBER’sS FIRST CONDUCTORSHIP . e ° e . ° 


WURTEMBERG AND ITS CAPITAL IN 1807 . ° e ° 


LIFE IN STUTTGARD 5 2 . 5 = e e ° 


CHAPTER IV. 


CHAPTER VI. 


CHAPTER VII. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


MANHEIM AND HEIDELBERG IN 1810 . ° ° e . 


DARMSTADT IN 1810. ° ° . . . ° e ° 
CHAPTER X. 

ON THE WORLD 5 . . = ° . ° e . 
CHAPTER XI. 

WANDERINGS . c . < é e 5 e e ° 


CHAPTER IX. 


CHAPTER XII. 


BERLIN IN 1812 . 5 . e - - e . e ° 


CHAPTER XIII. 


CONDUCTORSHIP AT PRAGUE. 4 5 . e ° ° 


CHAPTER XIV. 


WEBER’S PATRIOTIC COMPOSITIONS . 5 : ® e 


CHAPTER XV. 


A PERIOD OF CHANGE . ; ° e ° e . e 


6 


16 


31 


191 


271 


CARL MARIA VON WEBER. 





CHAPTER I. 
CARL MARIA VON WEBER’S FAMILY.— HIS BIRTH. 


It has frequently been remarked in the annals of the his- 
tory of Art, that artistic genius of the very highest order has 
needed the development of generations to blossom, and bear 
fruit in all its complete maturity. It has even been asserted 
that no great genius has appeared in any one celebrated artist 
without having gradually culminated through a line of fore- 
fathers who had distinguished themselves in the cultivation of 
the same branch of art, or at least given proof of the love with 
which they cherished it. 

Be that as it may, a singular example of this process of de- 
velopment, by which the love of some especial art in ancestors 
has sown the seeds for the future eminence of a chosen indi- 
vidual of their posterity, gradually tended the growing plant, 
and cultivated it into greatness, may be found in the history of 
Carl Maria von Weber’s family. The example is all the more 
striking as the direction taken by the love of Art in each gene- 
ration was twofold. The devotion to music constantly dis- 
played by the great composer’s forefathers was almost in- 
variably accompanied by a passion, verging on mania, for the 
stage, and, indeed, every thing connected with the theatrical 
world, —a passion which led many of them to commit the 
strangest actions, and to sacrifice position, fortune, all, in obe- 


dience to its impulses. This union of dramatic with musical 
9 


10 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


genius was developed, in all its completeness, in the subject of 
this memoir, — the man in whom all the family talent eulmi- 
nated ; and it is to this combination that his theatrical compo- 
sitions may be said to have materially owed their profound 
originality and powerful dramatic effect. 

The first of Carl Maria von Weber’s family of whom official 
record appears was a certain Johann Baptista Weber, born 
about the year 1550, whose estates in Upper Austria were 
greatly increased by imperial bounty, in return for his eminent 
services to the Catholic cause during the Thirty-Years’ War; 
and who finally was rewarded for his notable exertions by a 
patent of nobility as a Freiherr, or baron. The chief portion 
of his property, with the title, descended to his brother, Joseph 
Franz Weber; of whom family tradition, even at this early 
period, records that his love for theatrical exhibitions, as well 
as music, induced him to erect a small theatre and concert- 
room upon his own estate. During the general confusion of 
affairs consequent upon the Thirty-Years’ War and the wars 
of the Spanish and Austrian succession, little or no record ex- 
ists of the Weber family. It is only evident, that, during these 
troublous times, their property was lost to them; and, about 
the year 1740, the remaining branch of the family is to be 
found in the service of some of those minor potentates with 
whom Germany at that time swarmed. <A Fridolin von Weber 
is then mentioned as steward to the noble family of Schénau- 
Zella. Of the two sons of this Fridolin, the elder became the 
father of Constanze von Weber, the wife of the great Mozart, — 
and of three other daughters, all more or less distinguished as 
professional singers. The younger, Franz Anton, was destined 
to be the father of Carl Maria von Weber; the two celebrated 
composers being thus cousins by marriage. 

Both these brothers appear to have been inspired by the 
spirit of music, or rather possessed by it like a mocking demon, 
which, by its fascination, was ever leading them astray upon 
their troubled path of life. Their extraordinary talent, as in- 
strumental executants as well as singers, when still very young 


FRANZ ANTON VON WEBER. At 


reached the ears of Karl Theodor, the Elector of the Palati- 
nate ; and this prince invited them both to Manheim, where he 
had established that celebrated opera troop and orchestra, 
which were probably, at that period, unequalled in the world. 
The elder brother seems to have relinquished the stage at an 
early period. He is subsequently mentioned as privy coun- 
sellor and district judge to the electorate. The position of 
his daughters fully shows, however, that his operatic and theat- 
rical tastes were never quenched, and were transmitted to his 
children. 

The fortunes of Franz Anton, the father of the great com- 
poser, were far more checkered. Endowed with an eminently 
- handsome person, reckless in spirit, and jovial in manner, he 
was eager to adopt a military career: and a commission was 
bestowed upon him as ensign in the elector’s guard; but upon 
the seemingly inconsistent condition, that he should not with- 
draw his services from the operatic stage of Manheim. This 
anomalous position was apparently not satisfactory to his rest- 
less disposition, however; and having risen in favor with the 
commander of the forces of the electorate, Gen. Baron von 
Weichs, he flung aside opera scores and instrument, and fol- 
lowed his new protector to the imperial army. During the 
-ensuing campaign, he not only became the idol of his squadron 
by his inexhaustible joviality of spirit, but was distinguished 
by his valor. After the battle of Rossbach, — where he was 
wounded, however, —his unsettled disposition again betrayed 
itself. He left the military service; and by the earnest recom- 
mendation of his patron, Baron von Weichs, who had learned 

to entertain a fatherly affection for him, he entered the civil 
service of Clemens August, Elector of Cologne, and Bishop of 
Hildesheim. This change of destination determined one of 
the most important events of his life. In the house of the 
chief of his department, Court Financial Counsellor von Fu- 
metti, the handsome young lieutenant engaged the affections 
of the beautiful Maria Anna von Fumetti, the daughter. 
Whether the father had the proverbially flinty heart is not 


12 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


very apparent. But it was not until after the death of the old 
counsellor that the loving couple were united, and Franz 
Anton von Weber succeeded to the not inconsiderable fortune 
and lucrative appointment of his beloved’s father. His posi- 
tion was now a brilliant one. But the monotony of business 
routine evidently soon disgusted his ever-lively temperament. 
His passion for music again burst forth; and it was indulged 
to such a pitch of fanaticism, that he was to be seen at all 
times fiddling in public places, as he marched at the head of 
his numerous progeny; or working with his bow in the fields, 
to the amusement or derision of his fellow-citizens; and the 
office-papers soon lay in dusty confusion. This state of things 
could not last. His easy patron, Clemens August, died; and 
with his successor, the Prince-Bishop Friedrich Wilhelm, the 
wild, reckless, restless worshipper of Art found no favor. He 
was obliged to retire from his place with a pension; but until 
the year 1773 he still dwelt at Hildesheim, occupied solely 
with his beloved art, and the education of the elder branches 
of his numerous family. The hope of placing before the world 
one of his children as a musical wonder of the age was his 
principal mania; but, strict and almost exclusive as the musical 
education of his children was, the desired miracle was not 
vouchsafed him, — not as yet. 

This life could not long satisfy the yearnings of the ambi: 
tious and unstable Franz Anton von Weber. A more artistic 
and livelier sphere of activity became more and more necessary 
to his restless spirit. A consciousness—an overweening convic- 
tion, perhaps — of his own superior artistic merits was always 
whispering temptingly in his willing ear. The traditional 
family demon was strong at his heart; and, yielding at. last to 
its influence, he flung all other considerations to the wind, and 
dragged his whole family upon the stage. 

For some years there exists no record of the fortunes of this 
strange family troop of comedians, singers, and instrumental- 
ists. It appears probable that the family name was changed 
during the whole of this period, in obedience to the desire of 


FRANZ ANTON’S SECOND WIFE. 13 


the proud Maria Anna von Fumetti, who, as is known, com- 
bated her husband’s design with all her energies, but combated 
iu vain. The poor struggling woman seems to have broken 
her heart,under the burden of a life which to her appeared a 
constant degradation. She died, after a long period of suffer- 
ing, in 1783, not having yet attained her forty-seventh year. 
In the same year, the name of Franz Anton von Weber —as 
though he had been released from a bond which weighed heavy- 
ily upon his vainglorious spirit — again appears in the face of 
the world. He then figures as musical director of the Lubeck 
Theatre. The fortune brought him by his beautiful and once- 
happy wife was nearly squandered: he lived with his family in 
humble circumstances. His restlessness was still unquenched. 

Now he is mentioned as conductor of the orchestra of the Prince- 
Bishop of Eutin; now, again, he expresses his discontent and, 
dissatisfaction with his position, and resolves once more to, 
appear upon the stage. A notable change i in his life, however, 
was before him. 

Always possessed by the desire of developing an extraordi- 
nary musical genius in his children, he travelled in the year 
1784 to Vienna in order to place his two elder sons as pupils 
with the then aged composer, Joseph Haydn. A home for 
these children was found in a family of the name of Von Bren- 
ner; and here the amorous Franz Anton von Weber, although 
now at the age of fifty ; fell violently in love with Genofeva, ie 
daughter of the house, a mild, fair, pretty girl of-sixteen years. 
By what magic the middle-aged and needy musician won the 
maiden’s heart, and, still more, the consent of the father, is not 
apparent. The scarcely well-assorted pair were married on 
the 20th August, 1785; and, shortly afterwards, Franz Anton 
von Weber took back his young and lovely bride to his only 
home at Eutin. His appointment as musical director of the 
prince-bishop had been relinquished; but as Stadt Musikus, 
or salaried and privileged leader of all the music of the town 
on festive occasions, he still contrived to obtain a scanty sub- 
sistence. That the pride of the ambitious artist was deeply 


14 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 

wounded by his position, as well as his vanity mortified, may 
be well understood; nor can it be a matter of surprise that his 
temper should have been soured by need, and that his children 
by his first wife should have been occasionally harshly treated. 
But the saddest sorrow of this sad time of his life arose from 
the deep melancholy of his young bride. Many reasons may 
be surmised for her excessive lowness of spirits: by her family 
it was attributed to that longing for a lost home which is 
admitted as a disease under the name of Heimweh. It was 
under these unhappy circumstances, and when the “wolf was at 
the door,” that, on one cold wintry night in 1786, the melan- 
choly Genofeva brought a son into the world, who received at 
the baptismal font the names of “ Carl Maria Friedrich Ernst.” 
The father knew not then that the ambition of his life had 
been accomplished ; and that, if not a wonder-child, at all 
events a future genius, had been born to him. 

Franz Anton’s love of show was evidenced in the exercise 
of all his influence to obtain the widow of his old patron, Duke 
Friedrich August, and Prince Carl of Hesse, then Statholder 
of Schleswig and Holstein, as godmother and godfather to his 
newly-born son. Both of these illustrious personages con- 
sented to appear by proxy. 

Strange to say, a considerable confusion exists in the precise 
date of Carl Maria von Weber’s birth. The parish registers 
‘of Eutin have entered the baptism of the child as taking place 
on the 20th November, 1786. But the father’s own hand has 
recorded, in unmistakable figures, the birth of his son on the 
18th December, 1786 ; and from the circumstance that the anni- 
versary was invariably celebrated, as well by the family as by 
Carl Maria von Weber himself, in after-years, on this latter 
date, and, at the same time, from certain other textual irregu- 
larities in the church register, it may reasonably be inferred 
that a mistake of carelessness occurred in the official entry of 
the day of baptism, and that the 18th December was Weber’s 
genuine birthday. 

The child was yet an infant, when the family demon, roused 


THE BABY CARL MARIA. 15 
probably by a series of operatic performances which were 
given at the Episcopal court of Eutin, again seized on Franz 
Anton’s heart. Once more he grew drunk with the smell ot 
oil-lamps, size, and carpentry; once more his senses were 
dazzled by the dingy glitter of stage-lights; once more the 
flattering thunder of applause deafened his better reason : his 
blood was again fevered by the poison of the stage. Spite of 
the tears of his poor young submissive wife, who shrank timidly 
from a course of life which had broken Anna von Fumetti’s 
heart; spite of the entreaties and expostulations of his 
daughters, whose proved talent for the stage, however, may 
have entered largely into their father’s decision, —he again 
took up the wanderer’s staff, and set forth upon that troubled 
journey in search of theatrical fame, which he never ceased 
thenceforth restlessly to pursue. until nigh on eighty years of 
age. With the three grown-up daughters and the one son, 
who still remained by his side, he started once more to tempt 
fortune on the operatic, or, if circumstances so willed it, the 
dramatic stage. 

The baby Carl Maria was carried, by his quiet, suffering 
mother, in the train of the wandering troop. For some years, 
Franz Anton, with his children, pursued this strolling life; 
and, from the year 1787 to the year 1792, records may be 
found at Cassel, Meiningen, Nuremberg, and other towns, tell- 
ing of the performances of the well-known “ Weber’s Company 
of Comedians.” 


CHAPTER IL 


AN ARTIST’S CHILDHOOD. 


In an old album of a certain Elise Vigitill was found the 
first known writing, in childish, trembling characters, of that 
hand which afterwards so clearly and firmly traced the scores 
of “Qberon” and “Der Freischiitz.” “Dearest Elise,” run 
the simple words, “ always leve your sincere friend Carl von 
Weber; in the sixth year of his age; Nuremberg, the 10th 
September, 1792.” At that time the little Carl Maria was a 
weak, sickly child, suffering from a disease of the thigh-bone, 
which left traces in after-life. He was the darling treasure of 
his poor mother, whose failing health, listless melancholy, and 
household cares, kept her a constant prisoner in that dingy 
Nuremberg lodging. A happy child, except in the fond affec- 
tion of that pale, mild woman, he cannot have been. The 
maniacal ambition ef his father to find at once in his last-born 
the fulfilment of his oft-deceived hopes, and give a wonder- 
child to the world, vainly endeavored to force that slowly de- 
veloping intellect. The child shrank in nervous irritation, 
amounting to discust, from the ceaseless musical experiments 
which were tried with the hope of working a miracle. 

It is strange, that with his brain overtaxed, his nervous tem- 
perament painfully harassed, and his constitutional reserve 
shrivelled into shyness by his inability, from constant pain and 
suffering, to mix in the companionship of other children in his 

16 


CARL MARIA’S FIRST LESSON. VW 


earlier years, the spirit of Carl Maria von Weber should have 
ever developed itself into that gay, elastic, at times jovial 
nature, which rendered him so popular with his friends in 
later youth. As yet, the poor boy turned away with loathing 
from the rich banquet of art which he was expected to devour 
greedily. Franz Anton groaned in despair at his seeming 
lack of all talent; and his half-brother Fridolin, who helped 
the father in this ill-digested musical education, once, as Weber 
himself was accustomed to relate in after-life, tore the fiddle- 
bow from his little trembling hands, smote him with it several 
times over the knuckles, and angrily exclaimed, “ Whatever 
may be made of you, Carl, it will never be a musician!” But 
Franz Anton, fortunately, had better patience: he could not 
yet relinquish his fond hope. The child’s instruction was con- 
tinued; whilst, amid the wanderings of the Weber company, 
his plastic nature was receiving impressions which were never 
to be effaced. 

The boy knew but little of the play-grounds of other chil- 
dren of his age, — the house-stairs, the street, the garden, the 
meadow, or the wood, — the scenes which often go so far to 
stamp a character. His early games, it is true, as far as deli- 
cate health permitted, may have been such as those of other 
boys. But the arena in which they took place was widely 
different. As child of a theatrical manager, his play-fellows 
were actors’ children. His woods, his meadows, and his gar- 
dens were daubed on canvas; a painted palace was his street. 
His boyhood’s mimic fights were fought, not with sticks cut 
from the forest-bush, but with silvered swords and cardboard 
shields, with which the actors, as heroes or robbers, fought out 
their mimic fights upon the stage at night. It was not on the 
hill-side, beneath the air of heaven, that little Carl Maria 
stormed the imaginary fortress with his playmates. The stage 
represented the castle, which was to be defended against the 
assailants from the orchestra; and side-scenes and traps were 
the vantage-points or pitfalls of the battle. Orchestra and 
stage arrangements were familiar to him before the first les- 

2 


18 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


sons of his primer, half-understood theatrical intrigues his first 
glimpses of life. There is no doubt these first impressions of 
childhood exercised a powerful influence over his talent, and 
gave him that dramatic insight and knowledge of theatrical 
effect which stood him in such good stead in his operatic com- 
positions. But there lay in this daily communion with stage- 
life all the dangers arising from his contact with the laxity of 
morals, the Kttle-mindedness, the want of true poetical feeling, 
which floated only too visibly on its surface. That the bud- 
ding character of the child should have escaped this blight 
may be ascribed partly to that inborn instinct, which, through- 
out life, always urged him to wipe away the soil from the 
crystal; still more to the influence of that sweet, pure, simple- 
minded mother, who sheltered her beloved little one by her 
moral instruction from the evil tendencies of an existence 
which to her refined nature was utterly uncongenial. 

The mother’s task was even still more delicate and difficult. 
She was obliged to shield her child from the contamination of 
his own father’s example. The reckless joviality, which once 
sat so well on the handsome young officer, appeared coarseness 
and laxity in the more than middle-aged but. still active 
manager, whose love of show and distinction had rendered him, 
boastful and domineering, and whose dashing manners had 
now no more sterling ring in them than that of false stage- 
coin. That the whole theatrical life of his earlier years was 
utterly distasteful to the boy Carl’s purer and more poetical 
nature was evidenced in after-days by Weber’s strong repug- 
nance to speak of the times when the family, under Franz 
Anton’s direction, stood in a scarce higher position than that 
of strolling players. Still, however great his unwillingness to 
recall the memories of this period, he never failed to mention 
his father’s name with affection and respect. 

Although sheltered from harm beneath his mother’s wing, 
and consoled in all his bitter sorrows by her tenderness, Franz 
Anton’s intended wonder-child knew little rest. The fiddle- 
bow had struck no sparks of genius from the boy’s knuckles; 


THE MOTHER’S TASK. 19 


but as idol on some high pedestal in the temple of “Art the 
father was resolved that this child should stand. Masters 
were found to teach him drawing, painting, engraving. In all, 
the boy displayed ability; but in the exercise of none was the 
desired miracle worked. Franz Anton’s eager and impatient 
temperament refused to have recourse to the only means, which, 
by dry labor and unremitting industry, might have fanned the 


’ latent spark into a flame. The desired wonder-child was ex- 


pected to run before it could stagger on its toddling feet, to 
read with no knowledge of alphabet or grammar; in fact, to 
compose without due acquirement of the first principles of 
harmony. to paint pictures in oil before its fingers could trace 
the firm line with pencil upon paper, to engrave before its 
hand could grasp the tool with-steadiness. It is surprising 
that the poor little plant, thus forced in the parental hot-bed 


_of education for the production of early fruit, ever recovered 


its healthful power. It is fortunate that the boy himself pos- 
sessed that firmer will and better sense, which, in the cireum- 
stances of after-life, enabled him, while yet there was time, to 
transplant the poor weakly flower of genius, so nigh shrivelled 
to a mere weed of feeble dilettanteism, into a better, sounder, 
healthier soil. 

The circuit of the Weber company seems, at this period, to 
have been chiefly confined to the towns of Nuremberg and 
Erlangen. But, in 1796, the chances of the wandering players’ 


’ life brought them to Hildburghausen. Here Franz Anton was 


compelled to sever himself from his troop for a while. The 
health of poor melancholy Genofeva, always ailing, was now 
completely shattered. It was declared impossible for her to 
drag her feeble frame in the train of the wandering company. 
So at Hildburghausen Franz Anton remained with his fainting 
wife, his last-born boy, and his sister Adelhéid, who had 
steadily and loyally accompanied her restless brother through 
all his wanderings. An excellent woman was this Adelheid, 
now in the years of her old maidenhood, —a woman whose 
character had been formed rather by the world’s experiences 


20 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


than by education, — but of noble heart and kindly spirit. In 
Hildburghausen, then, these members of the Weber family 
remained, with straitened means and in a humble lodging ; 
and here Franz Anton made the acquaintance of Johann Peter 
Heuschkel, the conductor of the orchestra of the residing Duke 
Friedrich of Meiningen. 

Heuschkel was still a very young man. His superior talent 
had early won for him the position he filled. He was ‘amiable, 
lively, agreeable, but a strict and uncompromising zealot in the 
exercise of his art. The young musician was delighted with 
Carl Maria, whose joyous spirit began about this time to pierce 
the cloud that hung around him; and he begged to be allowed 
to give the boy instruction on the piano and in thorough-bass. 
His first task was to root out the weeds which grew in his 
young pupil’s hastily-acquired style. The boy’s unsteady 
brilliancy, the result of the flourishing Franz Anton’s instrue- 
tion, was checked at once. His rambling hands were bound 
down to the severest precision. He was made to tread the 
dry, dusty road of thorough-bass, step by step, ploddingly and 
slowly, on that wearing and weary pilgrimage which can alone 
lead to the true shrine of Art; and many were the tears shed 
by the poor child on his ungenial and dreary path. But the 
affection he soon learned to entertain for his amiable young 
master supported him on his way; and, sooner than might have 
been expected, the child himself began to discover the power 
this severe discipline would place within his grasp. Franz 
Anton looked on astounded to see how a system of instruction 
so repugnant to his own brilliant geniality drew forth from his 
child blossoms of genius which his own hothouse forcing had 
failed to warm into life. In after-days, Weber himself thank- 
fully acknowledged that he owed all the real firm foundation 
of his clear and characteristic execution on the piano to his 
severe, zealous, and much-beloved young master, Heuschkel 
of Hildburghausen. 

But scarcely had the boy Carl Maria begun to feel in the 
depths of his heart the truth and value of the advantages he 


WAR’S ALARMS. 21 


thus enjoyed, when his father’s restless spirit snatched them 
from him. Franz Anton’s. troop had arrived at Salzburg. 
Once more the manager’s “soul was eager for the fray ;” and, 
his poor Genofeva’s strength being sufficiently restored to bear 
the fatigues of travel, to Salzburg he went, in the autumn of 
1797, to undertake the personal direction of his theatrical com- 
pany in that town, previously to a projected excursion through 
Bavaria, Baden, and the Palatinate. But his plans were 
thwarted, and the advantages he expected nullified, by the 
tempest gathering nearer and nearer on the political horizon. 
The revolutionary hurricane was sweeping up from the West. 
The incredible successes of the French republican armies had 
filled the German princes with anxiety and agitation. Moreau 
_ had already stood before Munich. The peace of Campo For- 
mio could scarcely be said to have checked the progress of 
such an irresistible avalanche as the victorious Bonaparte. 
The storm-wind blew; and men bowed their heads before it. 
It is generally before the burst of any great political thunder- 
cloud that art lies prostrate. The cloud looks far blacker on 
the horizon than when driven up immediately overhead; and the 
same people who have stood appalled and powerless at the dis- 
tant rumbling of the cannon, and turned away their faces from 
the pleasures and solaces of life in their uneasiness, can after- 
wards dance, sing, and crowd the theatres, when the battle is 
raging at their very gates. And so it came that apprehension 
smote Franz Anton’s theatrical speculation to the ground. He 
resolved to remain at Salzburg. Salzburg, however, offered 
no rich harvest for dramatic art. The cruel rigors of the late 
archbishop had driven away in emigration forty thousand 
souls: the archbishopric still suffered from the loss of its best 
and freshest blood ; and a curse for the misdeeds of his predeces- 
sor seemed to rest oa all the efforts of the severe Hieronymus 
Colleredo, whom destiny had marked out for the last of Salz- 
burg’s reigning ecclesiastics. The archbishop, it is true, still 
entertained an orchestra and choir, which prevented musical 
art from dying out entirely in that dull abode. But the citi 


22 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


zens of Salzburg seemed to have no heart for the more refined 
enjoyments of life; and the ill success of Franz Anton’s 
theatrical management, which led eventually, it would seem, 
to the closing of the theatre; would probably have induced 
him to leave his profitless residence, had he not found a good 
opportunity for continuing the musical education of his little 
son. He had succeeded in placing the boy in the Archepisco- 
pal Institute for young choristers. 

The director and teacher of this establishment was a brother 
of the great composer, Joseph Haydn. This Michel Haydn 
owed much of his reputation to the reflex thrown on him by 
his brother’s brilliant name. Without being endowed with 
any great creative talent, he was nevertheless a learned and a 
sound musician. Although reserved in character and rough in 
manner, and in this much affording a striking contrast to the 
bright, gay, animated nature of his illustrious brother, Michel 
Haydn, already sixty years of age, seems to have been so much 
attracted to the weakly, limping little boy, whose pleasant 
wit and vivacity quickly won him the hearts of all his school- 
fellows, that he was induced to bestow every possible musical 
instruction on him without remuneration. 

That it was a great piece of good fortune for the boy to 
receive instruction from so thoroughly solid a master, from a 
master, too, who had the advantage, fully felt by the worldly- 
minded Franz Anton, of bearing the name of Haydn, is indis- 
putable. But the fresh spring of love for his art had been 
called up in the child’s heart by his fondness for the sympa- 
thetic young master he had lost; and when he found himself 
led forward by the chill hand of the old man into the region 
of art, which Heuschkel had shown to him, as a sunny world 
bestrewn with flowers, and which now appeared to him no 
better than a dreary prison-chamber, full of mouldering books 
of notes, dust-covered instruments, and antiquated forms, the 
boy could but feel the cramping influence of the re-action. In 
a letter, however, written by little Carl Maria to his regretted 
young master, to wish him happiness on the approaching new 


ee | 


INSTRUCTION FROM MICHEL HAYDN. 23 


year, — the first letter extant of the illustrious composer, — 
amidst all his expressions of affection and regret, he speaks 
only of his “luck” in getting instruction from a master “who 
no longer takes any pupils, because he has so much to do.” 
That these lines, however, may possibly have been written 
under his father’s supervision, may be deduced from the fact 
that they were accompanied by a long letter from the ever- 
vainglorious Franz Anton, who begs to be addressed in return 
as “Major F. A. Baron von Weber.” This persistence in 
being called “ Major” by all his acquaintances in Salzburg 
was notoriously one of those incomprehensible vagaries in 
which the vanity of the old gentleman was accustomed to in- 
dulge. 

The struggle in the child’s mind, at this period of his musi- 
cal education, was doubtless a severe one. On the one hand, 
he turned with repugnance from the skeleton of art, which was 
now presented to him, denuded of every form of loveliness; on 
the other, an inward consciousness once more whispered to 
him how important was the very study of this dry anatomy. 
When once left alone to direct his bark on the rough sea of 
harmony, like a young mariner, he could but acknowledge the 
blessing the previous study of his compass, his barometer, and 
his sextant, had afforded him. 

Meanwhile all was far from being peace within. Pecuniary 
troubles came thick upon the little family. Franz Anton, in 
the pressure of his needs, grew more and more rough in man- 
ner to those around him. The severe climate of the mountain- 
circled city fell a deadly blight on poor suffering Genofeva. 
Still more blighting to her loving heart were the wants of the 
family and the temper of her husband. Consumption had set 
in: she felt that she was near her end. Her last and bitterest 
sorrow lay in the thought, that the development of her boy’s 
mind must be left in hands so little able to insure his future 
weal as those of the reckless Franz Anton. The anxious 
mother’s heart was soon at rest, however. On the 13th 
March, 1798, the poor sickly, sorrowing Carl Maria knelt by 


24 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


the deathbed-side, and held for the last time the cold hand of 
his deeply-beloved, sweet, beautiful young mother. 

Franz Anton’s grief was violent and loud. It was sincere, 
however; for he could not but feel the blessing he had lost. 
But it was not long. Within a year, the old gentleman, who, 
spite his age, still exercised a strange fascination over women’s 
hearts, was for the third time betrothed at Bamberg to a widow, 
by name Von Beer. The marriage, however, eventually never 
took place. 

Carl Maria’s heart seemed crushed at first. Fortunately he 
was not utterly deprived of the salutary effect of female in- 
fluence. His noble aunt Adelkeid was still by his side. She 
took the reins of the little orphan’s education into her own 
sensible and practical hands; not only counteracting in the 
boy’s mind the effect of Franz Anton’s extravagant vagaries, 
and the possible contamination of the wild stroller’s life, but 
blunting the child’s dangerous tendency to sharp sarcasm with 
all her powers of control. To these latter efforts, probably, 
did Carl Maria von Weber owe the happy change which 
sweetened the instinctive bitterness of wit in the boy into the 
charming flow of humor, free from gall, that distinguished him 
in later years, and was justly said to have had the power of 
reconciling every enemy, whilst it enchanted every friend. 

Meanwhile the real satisfaction of the boy, in the gradual 
conviction that he was slowly reaching the desired goal by his 
weary climbing in his dry studies, was more and more apparent. 
It was earnestly expressed in another letter, addressed, about 
the middle of 1798, to his former master, Heuschkel. 

In his labors he was urged on, frequently in the most injudi- 
cious manner, by his father, whose hopes to hail a great 
celebrity in his son were again aroused; and who began 
already to boast of his young prodigy in such terms, that the 
blushes often mounted into the boy’s cheeks, and his entreaties 
were stammered to be spared such painful eulogium. The 
first-fruits of the father’s harvest shortly appeared in six short 
fugues of Carl Maria’s composition ; which, after meeting with 


_e 


MUNICH IN 1798. . 25 


the full approval of his master, Michel Haydn, were duly pub- 
lished. They were dedicated to the boy’s brother, Edmund 
von Weber, then married, and residing in Hesse Cassel. But, 
even in this publication, the influence of the boastful Franz 
Anton was only too apparent. In the dedication, which is 
dated “Salzburg, Ist September, 1798,” stand the words, “in 
the eleventh year of his age.” A year had been taken, with 
obvious purpose, from the boy’s real standing. He was then 
far advanced in his twelfth year. These little fugues were 
favorably mentioned by Rochlitz, the great musical critic of 
the day, to whom they had doubtless been sent by the ambi- 
tious father. 

But with such gradual development of the boy’s genius 
Franz Anton could not be content. His darling world of art 
was on the stage alone. He burned to see his child’s composi- 
tions produced at once upon the boards. The school of Michel 
Haydn could never lead to this result. Theatrical manage- 
ment in Salzburg was more hopelessly swamped than ever in 
the advancing tide of war. So, towards the end of the year 
1798, Franz Anton took his little family to Munich, with the 
evident intention of giving a dramatic tendency to the boy’s 
talent by his nearer contact with the influence to be derived 
from the operatic and dramatic excellence afforded by that 
capital. 

At this period, Munich was still sustaining a somewhat 
tarnished reputation as the cradle and the school of German 
opera. Carl Theodor of the Palatinate, when he had succeeded 
to his heritage of Bavaria, had brought with him from Man- 
heim his admirable orchestra and troop of singers, headed by 
the great names of Vogler and Peter Winter as composers ; and 
had issued an order, that, for the future, no foreign perform- 
ances should be permitted at his court. A genuine lover of 
art, he had resolved that Munich, as his capital, — although 
Bavaria was never favored by his love, —should be distin- 
guished by all the splendor which a brilliant theatre, a faultless 
opera, and a general patronage of all the refinements of life, 


26 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


could bestow upon it. But a change had come. His second 
marriage, with Marie Leopoldine of Austria, combined with all 
the distresses of his ignominious flight into Saxony before the 
cannon of Jourdan and Moreau, and the shame of his vain 
efforts to stem the triumphs of the French revolutionary army, 
had transformed the liberal and spirited Carl Theodor into a 
gloomy devotee and a harsh ruler. Under the cruel blight of 
such agents of tyranny as the morose Father Frank and the 
savage Privy-Councillor Lippert, the freedom of spirit, which 
could alone warm blossoms of art into life, was frozen to the 
ground. The tones of harmony were deafened by the dreaded 
rumbling of the wheels of Carl Theodor’s spectral carriage, 
and the vain cries of the tortured in the Yellow Chamber. 
But the men of talent, who had flocked to Munich to bask in 
the sunshine of its golden period, were still there; and the 
theatre was still carried on with a certain degree of brilliancy. 
Peter Winter, the celebrated composer of “ The Interrupted 
Sacrifice,” was the conductor of the orchestra; and the amiable 
Franz Danzi, composer of many pretty little operas, was by 
his side. Both these men were lovers of true art, and still 
maintained sufficient authority to hold their banner proudly 
aloft. 

It was not so much the fostering care of these two celebrities, 
however, that Franz Anton sought for his son, as that of two 
strange men of genius. One of these men, Joseph Gritz, who 
had pursued almost every profession during his checkered 
career, and lived through every phase of life, was one of the 
most celebrated musical theorists of his time. To him Franz 
Anton brought letters of recommendation. But Griitz loved 
money ; and he heard no chink of solid coin in the old spend- 
thrift’s pocket. He declared he had too much to do already to 
take another pupil: perhaps he really had. The other sin- 
gular individual was Evangelist Wallishauser, who, during his 
triumphant operatic progress in Italy, had taken unto himself 
the name of Valesi. For one and forty years, his beautiful 
tenor voice had been heard upon all the stages of civilized 





CARL MARIA’S NEW TEACHERS. aie 


Europe. At Munich he had terminated his long operatic 
career. But he was considered the greatest teacher of singing 
of all time. Now, one of Franz Anton’s few thoroughly prac- 
tical maxims had always been, “ No man can write well for the 
voice, or compose a good opera, who cannot sing decently him- 
self.” To Valesi, then, he applied to teach his little genius 
singing. Fortunately for the boy, the gray-headed old tenor 
did not return the same answer as the crusty Gratz ; and, under 
his auspices, young Carl Maria studied this branch of his pro- 
fession. A pupil of Joseph Griitz, Kalcher by name, after- 
wards court organist at Munich, was secured for the more 
strictly musical education of the boy, whose talent, by the 
father’s express command, was to be directed in a dramatic 
channel. 

For both his new teachers Carl Maria seems to have enter- 
tained the greatest affection. No better combination to foster 
the talent of the boy in the sense of his father’s wishes could 
probably have been devised than that of the quiet, careful 
young theorist with the fiery, animated, excitable old singer. 
Whilst on the one side the boy worked steadily under the eyes 
of Kalcher, in whose house he dwelt far more than with his 
father, and daily astonished his teacher more and more by the 
rich fund of imagination in his budding talent; on the other he 
was taken by Valesi to the Vocal and Instrumental Academy 
of Munich, and soon made to excite the envy of his oldest 
fellow-pupils, not only as a piano executant, but as a singer. 
It cannot be denied, however, that the zeal of both his teachers 
was lacking in moderation. Not only were the boy’s mind and 
body both overtaxed, but two of the natural but baneful ten- 
dencies of boyish genius, from which the stricter teachings of 
Heuschkel and Michel Haydn sought to rescue him, were again 
in some degree awakened, —the facile production of fruit as 
yet unripe and dwarfed, and the overweening estimation of the 
produce. From the evil consequences of this hasty culture he 
may be said to have been saved by the very hyperbolical 
excess of his vainglorious father’s vauntings, from which the 


28 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


boy’s instinctive modesty shrank back alarmed, and which 
thus, by their re-actionary influence, tended to paralyze the 
deleterious effects of the fatal foreing system. Perhaps it was 
fortunate, also, that he was early taught a lesson in the school 
of disappointment, and that no musical publisher could be 
found to print the score of his earliest opera, “The Power 
of Love and Wine,” and several other pieces, both vocal 
and instrumental, with which the impatient Franz Anton 
desired to astonish the world. 

At this time, a strange incident had nigh deprived posterity 
of Weber’s genius as composer. To. Munich there came a 
singular young man, with whom Franz Anton had been pre- 
viously acquainted in Nuremberg, — Aloys Sennefelder, an 
erratic genius, who after spurning the law, for which he 
had been educated, and tempting fortune as actor, artist, 
soldier, appeared, in his latest character on the stage of life, 
as half-starved author.. He wrote plays of some merit; but 
he could find no publisher to print them. He sought in his 
own fertile brain a cheap and easy means of reproduction 
which he himself could carry out. He sought and found, and 
unexpectedly achieved a world-wide celebrity. Need had been 
his “ mother of invention ;” and thus Aloys Sennefelder became 
the inventor of lithography. Franz Anton had naturally 
access to Sennefelder’s working-room. The sight of the new 
invention inspired him with a brilliant idea. What an Eldo- 
rado was here for musicians! The scales fell from his eyes; 
and he saw his child’s compositions self-engraved, self-printed, 
self-published. Fame and fortune were in his own hands. 
Carl: Maria was immediately made to watch the inventor’s 
process in his own room, and learn the art. The boy seized the 
idea with avidity ; worked with his usual zeal to attain profi- 
ciency ; and even, with the assistance of his father, contrived a 
great amelioration in Sennefelder’s press. His ardent little 
soul thus received an impulse in a new direction: he was fasci- 
nated with his work. Just as his enthusiasm had reached to 
its highest pitch, an inexplicable fire broke out in Kalcher’s 


THE INVENTION OF LITHOGRAPHY. 29 


house. All the boy’s compositions had been carefully laid 
aside by his master in a certain cabinet. This cabinet was 
wholly destroyed by the fire, whilst scarcely any other object 
- in the apartment was injured. The accident made a powerful 
impression upon the boy’s susceptible mind. His mother’s 
dreamy nature had early imbued him, not only with an implicit 
reverence for the signs and symbols of his faith, but with a 
half-poetical, half-superstitious belief in the power of myste- 
rious and invisible influences pervading the universe,—a 
fancy which, more or less, accompanied him throughout his 
life. He looked upon the accident, so peculiar in its nature, as 
a warning to him, from the spiritual powers that directed his 
destiny, to renounce his further studies in music, and devote’ 
himself entirely to the new art of his adoption. He even 
announced his resolve in the firmest manner to his disappointed 
masters. Critics were severe also in Munich upon the first 
musical pieces published by the boy from his own lithographic 
press ; and this severity may have had a more genuine secret 
influence towards inducing the boy’s transitory decision to 
renounce his musical career than the supposed warnings of his 
familiar demon. 

About the same time, Aloys Sennefelder began to draw back 
from his intercourse with the Webers in mistrust. The jeal- 
ousy of the inventor was naturally aroused by the advance the 
father and son were gaining on him in their efforts to bring to 
greater perfection the art they had learned from him; and 
every hinderance, instead of aid, was now thrown by him in 
their way. So Franz Anton concluded that their plans could 
be better carried into execution in any other place than, that 
which housed the angry Sennefelder. 

Once more, without any apparent definite plan, Franz Anton 
dragged his boy, now fourteen years of age, along with him in 
his wanderings. Wearied at last with her brother’s never- 
ceasing restlessness, good Aunt Adelheid stoutly refused to 
travel on again. It was a pang for her to part from her boy 
Carl Maria; but she needed rest, she could do no more, and 
she remained. 


80 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


Of the desultory course of Franz Anton and his boy nothing 
is known during the year 1799 beyond one fact, not without 
its importance in the career of Carl Maria. During a short 
sojourn in Carlsbad, on this passage from town to town, the 
boy had attracted*the attention of the Chevalier von Steins- 
berg, the manager of the theatre of that town,—a man 
passionately devoted to the stage, and at once author, actor, 
singer, and director. This enthusiastic individual conceived 
the liveliest interest for the young genius, and even trusted 
to the boy’s hands the book of an opera, called “The Dumb 
Girl of the Forest,’ of which he was the author. 

In 1800, the Webers, father and son, were residing at Frei- 
berg in Saxony, a town celebrated throughout Europe for its 
rich neighboring mines, and still more for its admirable 
mining .academy for the education of the corps of miners. 
Some of the greatest engineers, geologists, chemists, and 
other men of science of the day, connected with this great 
institution, were there collected. It was doubtless the con- 
sideration of the advantages to be derived from intercourse 
with such illustrious workers in the field of science which 
induced Franz Anton to choose Freiberg as the best per- 
manent residence, where he might carry out the execution 
of his plans for the perfection of the lithographic art. Here, 
too, the boy Carl Maria had at last rest and repose, and time 
to brood over the tempting opera-book, which could not but 
again fan into a flame the vainly-quenched fire of musical 
genius within. 





CHAPTER IU. 


THE BOY’S FIRST OPERA.— FREIBERG AND SALZBURG. 


THE boy’s genius now began to struggle violently against tha 
bonds, self-imposed in one respect, with which it had been fet- 
tered. It struggled until its chains were torn asunder: from 
captive it once more became the master; and its first effort of 
power was to silence the warning voice which had issued from 
the burning cabinet. “Major” the Baron von Weber had pub- 
licly advertised his lithographic press and printing-office in his 
new establishment at Freiberg ; but, whilst the boy’s ability as 
draughtsman was still exercised upon stone, the scratching of 
musical notes might be again heard along with the creaking of 
the printing-press. Other influences, also, no doubt aided the 
liberation of that fettered genius. Necessity may have com- 
pelled an artistic tour, upon which the boy was taken by his 
father. At all events, Carl Maria played at concerts during 
the summer of 1800 at Erfurt, Gotha, and Leipsic ; and played 
with signal success. On the return of the wanderers to Frei- 
berg in August, they found the theatrical troop of the Cheva- 
lier von Steinsberg established in the town. The enthusiastic 
manager had, it appears, been somewhat prematurely boastful 
of the great original works, operatic as well as dramatic, with 
which he intended to astonish the favored public of Freiberg. 
His own comedies had been given with applause. The talented 
manager himself is reported to have been an excellent light 

31 


32 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


comedian. His company, carefully selected and admirably 
drilled by himself, appears to have stood far higher in artistic 
acquirements than the ordinary wandering companies of that 
day ; and the success of the troop had been unequivocal. But 
novelty was needed; and, on the return of the Webers, Steins- 
berg earnestly urged the young musician to lose no time in 
composing his “ Dumb Girl of the Forest” for the company. 
This entreaty doubtless again roused in the boy’s heart the fa- 
miliar spirit of the family, the passion for every thing con- 
nected with the stage. The old gentleman, who had latterly 
seen with repugnance the absorbing devotion of his son to his 
newer art, was all impatience once more for the day when 
nis youthful prodigy was to astound the world as an operatic 
composer. His influence was all in favor of the fresh attempt. 
In short, in the month of October, 1800, the opera was ready. 
Carl Maria has since mentioned, in his little autobiography, 
that, seduced by the anecdotes of miracles achieved by cele- 
prated maestri, he had written the whole second act of the 
work in ten days. 

It has never been sufficiently explained why this opera, com- 
posed expressly at Steinsberg’s request, to his own libretto, and 
for his own company, should have been first given by another 
troop. But so it was. The work was first performed in Chem- 
nitz, in the month of October. It is announced on an extant 
billas “‘The Dumb Girl of the Forest,’ a grand romantic comic 
opera, — the music by C. M. von Weber, thirteen years of age, 
a pupil of Haydn.” That this announcement was dictated by 
Franz Anton can never for a moment be doubted. His brag- 
gart spirit may be clearly seen in the misstatement of the age 
of his boy, who was then fourteen, and in the suppression of 
the Christian name of Carl Maria’s real master, so as to induce 
the idea that he had studied under the illustrious composer. 
With what result the work was received by the public of Chem- 
nitz does not appear. In a correspondence which was shortly 
to ensue, it was asserted that the opera was hailed there “ with 
the most distinguished applause.” 


“THE DUMB GIRL OF THE FOREST.” 33 


Its turn was now to come at Freiberg. The Chevalier von 
Steinsberg had done his best to place his ““Dumb Girl of the 
Forest” to all possible advantage on the stage. A consider- 
able excitement had been created in the town respecting the 
work of the youthful prodigy. All Freiberg was on the tiptoe 
of expectation. But papa had blown the loud trumpet with so 
much indiscreet energy, that it was impossible for him to avoid 
awakening the most inharmonious echoes. Opposing parties 
were formed in the town. The leaders, of the adverse party 
were the professor of singing, Fischer, and the Stadt Musikus, 
Siegert, who himself conducted the orchestra at the theatre. 
They took the field, mounted on their hobbies of musical ped- 
antry and old-established forms, against all comers who should 
dare to defend the extravagances, the mistakes, and the scant 
musical knowledge, of the boy composer. The other party was 
formed of the ardent youth of the Academy, the members of 
the gayer society of the town, whose hearts the little witty 
young lithographer and musician had won, and all the many 
jovial friends whom Herr Papa, spite his affected military rigid- 
ity, had gathered round him at the “Golden Lion” by his 
pleasant talk and genial manners. All went tolerably well up 
to the day of the first representation, which took place upon the 
24th of November. Murmurings, it is true, had been heard. A 
great portion of the public was annoyed by the unaccustomed 
wording and bombastic tone of the playbill. Not only was the 
composer announced as “Carl Maria Baron von Weber, thir- 
teen years of age, a pupil of Haydn,” — the real Christian name 
of his master being again carefully suppressed, — but the pub- 
lic was informed that the work was dedicated, by permission, 
to “ Her Electoral Highness, Maria Amelie Auguste, Reigning 
Electress of Saxony.” The eventful evening came. . Spite of 
the support of the youth of the Mining Academy, spite of the 
good-will of friends and well-wishers, spite of Franz Anton’s 
trumpet, — perhaps, in some degree, because of it, — the opera 
produced little or no effect. 

~ The musical critic of the Freiberg paper spoke of the work 
a 


34 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


without harshness, but so far in disparaging terms, that it was 
called “a mere blossom of genius, which promises better and 
riper fruit.” Franz Anton’s disappointment was terrible. His 
dreams of immediate glory, honor, and fortune, through his 
wonder-child, were rudely dispelled; and it is to the bitterness 
of the father’s rage that must be attributed an extravagant 
and absurd newspaper article which appeared on the occasion, 
in the name of the son. The foolish impetuosity, the vaunting 
discourse, and the reckless conduct, of Franz Anton, were 
doomed to be the bane of the poor boy, whose.innate modesty 
and taste. were continually shocked by a father whom his 
affectionate heart was so much disposed to love and reverence. 
The newspaper article ascribed the failure of the opera to the 
bad leadership, and, in an underhand way, to the ill-will of 
the conductor. An immediate paper-war was the result. The 
pigtails of Conductor Siegert, and his friend the professor, 
were stiff with indignation. The “pert chit,” who had dared 
to sien such an attack, was to be trounced. Crushing letters 
appeared, to be met by rejoinders. The poor little composer 
was accused of ignorance, plagiarism, and even imposture. 
Falsehood, malevolence, and intrigue were thrown back in 
the teeth of the irritated assailants. The success of the work 
at Chemnitz was asserted and denied; and the voice of a 
depreciating correspondent from that town was declared, on 
the Weber side, to be worth no more than “the yelping of a 
cur.” No laurels can be said to have been culled by either 
party in this desperate fight. The wounds received fell all 
upon the heart of the poor lad, whose hand had been made to 
attach his own signature to the far from elegant and highly 
injudicious letters which were so absurdly intended to support 
his honor and his fame. The consequences of the paper-war 
were harmful in another respect. Although the young blood 
of Freiberg had manifested its delight at the dirt thrown upon 
the “old pigtail faction,” the Webers had lost in the skirmish 
the consideration of many of the better families of the place. 
Franz Anton determined to shake the dust off his feet, and 
eave the ungrateful town forever. 


“PETER SCHMOLL AND HIS NEIGHBORS.” 385 


It may be here recorded, however, that Weber himself, in his 
autobiographical sketch, speaks of “The, Dumb Girl of the 
Forest ” as “a very crude work, but not wholly without inven- 
tive power;” and regrets that it was more widely circulated 
than he liked himself. He says that it was given for fourteen 
nights in Vienna, was translated into the Bohemian language 
for Prague, and was represented with applause at St. Peters- 
burg. 

At what precise date Franz Anton again took his wanderer’s 
staff in his hand to seek fortune on a better soil is not recorded. 
In the month of November, 1801, father and son are again to 
be found in Salzburg. Affairs connected with his previous 
theatrical management appear to have led Franz Anton hither. 
But, at Salzburg, all was still in dire confusion. The French, 
under Moreau, had barely left the place. Whatever his hopes 
and intentions may have been, they appear to have been slow 
in realization; for the sojourn in Salzburg continued far into 
the summer of 1802. 

The leisure afforded by this protracted residence was em- 
ployed by young Carl Maria in the composition of a two-act 
little comic opera, entitled “Peter Schmoll and his Neigh- 
bors.” The subject had been derived from an old novel by 
Cramer. With the advantage of the experience he had 
gained, the boy was now in a position to profit, far more than 
before, by the advantages again afforded in his studies under 
old Michel Haydn. It is probable, at the same time, that 
another personage may have exercised some influence over the 
development of the boy’s talent at this juncture. That well- 
known wandering musical genius, Sigismund Neukomm, at 
that time twenty-four years of age, was his fellow-pupil then; 
and the result of the intimacy of the two ardent musicat 
spirits cannot have been without importance. The work on 
the new opera was terminated before the departure of the 
Webers from Salzburg in April, 1802. Weber himself has 
mentioned, that, in the composition of this opera, he had had 
the intention of employing several obsolete old musical instru- 


36 WEBER’S EARLY ‘YEARS. 


ments. The extant score bears no trace of this design, how- 
ever. Possibly his judicious old master may have kept him 
back from such a purpose. Whatever may have been still the 
lad’s shortcomings, there is no doubt that a great advance must, 
have been made in his composition to have permitted the 
strict and crusty old master to pen so admirable a testimonial 
as that which he gave his scholar upon this occasion. “In all 
truth, with full conviction, and with the best judgment,” 
wrote Michel Haydn, “I attest that this opera has been com- 
posed in the truest rules of harmony, with much fire, creat 
delicacy, and appropriate feeling.” That the boy was in many 
ways actively and industriously occupied with his art is mani- 
fest from an extant letter written by him to Herr Andrée of 
Offenbach, the musical publisher : his first letter it was to one 
of these arbiters of a young musician’s destinies, — his first 
real letter of business. But this first effort was unsuccessful : 
the compositions offered — and they were numerous and mani- 
fold — were all declined. A better fortune attended the lad, 
however, in his “Siz petites pieces ad quatre mains,” also com- 
posed during the stay at Salzburg, and forwarded to Gombart, 
the Augsburg publisher. These pieces appeared; and they 
have been since declared by musical critics to be replete with 
a graceful beauty and a deep feeling, which were never sur- 
passed in his later compositions for the piano. It would almost 
seem that ill-judging Franz Anton proved a bane rather than 
a blessing to his boy whenever his own influence was used to 
work a spell over the young composer’s fortunes. In the 
instance of the failure with Andrée, the father’s unlucky hand 
is easily to be traced in a passage of Carl Maria’s letter to the 
publisher, in which he speaks of himself as the pupil of many 
very celebrated masters in Dresden, Prague, and Vienna; 
when it is notorious, that, in all the wanderings of the Weber 
pair, their sojourn in these places was only of the briefest 
nature. 

But the footlights of the stage were the bright beacon 
towards which the familiar spirit of the house of Weber was 


THE PRINCE-BISHOP OF AUGSBURG. 37 


sure to steer their bark. The first consideration was the pro- 
duction of the new opera. Opportunities seemed to offer 
themselves in Augsburg. Edmund von Weber, Franz Anton’s 
eldest son, who had entirely seceded from his father’s com- 
pany of comedians in 1798 at Salzburg, was residing in that 
town, partly as musical conductor of the theatre; partly in the 
service of Prince-Bishop Clemens Wenzeslaus, who still 
retained his bishopric of Augsburg, although the peace of 
Luneville had deprived him of his rich domains of Tréves and 
Coblenz, and all his other lands had been annexed to the 
conquering republic, “one and indivisible.” The revenues of 
this genial old prince-bishop were still very considerable, 
however, thanks to the compensation, in the form of subsidy, 
bestowed on him by the German princes. As a true son of 
that splendid patron of Art, August III. of Saxony, he spent 
his life pleasantly in the society of the Muses, of whom Euterpe 
and Thalia were his especial darlings ; and entertained, at his 
own cost, an excellent orchestra and troop of singers. His 
favorite composer was the great Haydn; and to this circum- 
stance it was probably owing that Edmund von Weber, ane 
of the master’s most distinguished pupils, had abtained a 
recommendation to the enthusiastic Clemens Wenzeslaus, and 
had been received into his service. Here, then, was a brilliant 
opening for the production of young Carl Maria’s “ Peter 
Schmoll,” through the interest of his brother.. But the circum- 
stances of the time were unfavorable; and this great hope 
was, for a while, deferred. So Franz Anton took up his staff, 
and again led forth his wonder-child upon his wanderings. 
The probable end and aim of this journey appears to have 
been the settlement of Franz Anton’s affairs at Eutin. The 
father had doubtless other intentions, which might have been 
turned to his advantage during his course towards the north 
of Germany. But although it is apparent that Franz Anton, 
with his son, visited; during the autumn of this year, Meinin- 
gen, Eisenach, Sondershausen, Brunswick, where at least a 
month was passed, and finally Eutin, no record can be found 


. 


38 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


of any concerts where the boy’s talent was turned to profit. 
It may be surmised, however, that Carl Maria may have spent 
many blessed hours among the old musical works in the Ducal 
Library of Brunswick, and garnered up seed, to be sown on 
fruitful soil, and to spring up afterwards in that almost ineredi- 
ble mass of richly-colored flowers of musical art which he 
presented to the world. © 


CHAPTER IV. 


VIENNA AND THE ABBE VOGLER. 


Ir is worthy of remark, that although no especial event of 
note in Carl Maria’s life, no especial personal association, exer- 
cised any peculiar influence over his mind during this journey, 
it was exactly at this juncture that an evident and even strik- 
ing change occurred in the development of the young com- 
poser’s genius. All at once, he ceased to crawl as a child in 
the nurse’s leading-strings. Although his steps may have been 
as yet somewhat timid and uncertain, he walked alone. All 
he did was now, and was to be henceforth, imbued with the 
life and truth of his own heart and soul. The path into which 
a mysterious impulse urged him was doubtless the right path, 
which was eventually to lead to the great race-course of Art, 
upon which he was destined to win his wreath of immortality 
at the cost of his own life. The impulse, there is every reason 
to suppose, was that fresh spring of a first love which now 
stirred his young heart, and taught it to sing love-songs. 

His first real “ Lied” was written in Hamburg, in the Octo- 
ber of 1802, to the words of Matthisson’s exquisite little poem, 
“The Taper.” In this his own true feelings first found that voice 
which was thereafter to be prized by Germany as the best and 
dearest to her ears; through darkness and light, through love 
and hate, through the struggles for freedom, and the storms of 


battle, to the great goal of victory and glory. What all We- 
39 


40 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


ber’s compositions, up to the period of his great operas, could 
not earn for him, was won by those songs, in which his own 
life’s pulses beat; those songs, whose joyousness made a peo- 
ple glad, whose pathos made a people weep; those songs, which 
stamped him the heartfelt singer of a people’s heart. 

In Eutin, during the two weeks of the Webers’ stay in Octo- 
ber, 1802, Carl Maria had the good fortune to win the strong 
affection of Johann Heinrich Voss, then resident at that place, 
who took such a fancy to the pale, interesting lad, that he sup- 
plied him with the words of many of the cheeriest, brightest, 
gayest songs which were to gladden the hearts of Germany. 
One anecdote, belonging to these days in Eutin, shows how 
easily roused, even still, were the boy’s susceptibilities. The 
Webers were lodged in the house of a Counsellor Stricker, 
where music was the favorite occupation. The son of the host 
was accustomed, to young Carl Maria’s disgust, to achieve the 
most triumphant successes on —the Jew’s-harp! and on one 
occasion, when a performance of this distinguished virtuoso on 
two Jew’s-harps excited so general an enthusiasm, that Franz 
Anton himself exclaimed, “ Good heavens, how beautiful !” 
the boy closed his piano in indignation, and declared, in the 
most decided manner, that he would play no more. 

In the month of December, 1802, father and son had returned 
to Ausburg. The fortunes.of “ Peter Schmoll and his Neigh- 
bors” were yet to be decided. The lively, pleasant Prince- 
Bishop Clemens Wenzeslaus welcomed them with his charac- 
teristic kindliness. Along with Edmund von Weber, who stood 
high in the good man’s favor, they were frequently guests in 
his palace; and many a pleasant evening was there passed in 
concerted performances, wherein Edmund led on the violin : 
the bishop himself, and the son of his court-physician Ahorner, 
took the viola or flute; Franz Anton flourished on the violon- 
cello or bass; and Carl Maria played the piano, or sang. But, 
in these little Capuan delights, the interests of “ Peter Schmoll” 
were not forgotten. The theatre, during the absence of the 
young composer and his father, had been brought into very 


REPRESENTATION OF ‘PETER SCHMOLL.” 41 


tolerable working-order. Early in 1803, the opera was already 
in rehearsal: and in the month of March, as far as can be 
ascertained, Carl Maria’s second represented opera appeared 
upon the boards; appeared, however, without any great effect, 
it must be supposed, as no record of success, triumphant or 
otherwise, is anywhere to be found. It is possible, too, that the 
comparative failure of this fresh attempt determined the next 
step in the wandering and checkered life of Franz Anton and 
his son. It was announced, to the good bishop’s great regret, 
that a journey to Vienna was an unavoidable necessity. 

The boy himself may have felt, by growing experience, what 
were his own deficiencies in technical science, and how much 
might yet be acquired in that great school and judgment-seat 
of musical art ; or Franz Anton may have sighed for admission 
into that artistic paradise which was considered the Eldorado 
of musicians. From many evidences, it is manifest that Carl 
Maria himself was tormented with fears and scruples at the 
thought of approaching the very steps of that great temple 
over which hovered the spirits of Mozart and Gliick; and of 
which the two great living heroes, Haydn and Beethoven, still 
guarded the entrance. But to Vienna it was resolved that the 
Webers should go; and to Vienna they went. 

Towards the close of the year 1803, the brilliant sun of mu- 
sical art, which had so long shone with rare effulgence on the 
city of Vienna, had begun to grow pale; although it still shed 
rays of warmth and brightness unknown elsewhere. For half 
a century, a long, unbroken line of the great masters had re- 
vealed the mighty mysteries of their art to the enraptured 
public of Vienna; for half a century had these masters hewn, 
chiselled, polished the rough block of public taste into a form 
of exquisite refinement. From the time of Gliick’s first advent 
into the imperial city, not a year had passed that some new 
immortal work had not given strength to the growing judg- 
ment of the fortunate Viennese, or thrown a fresh light upon 
some yet unknown path in art. Thus, whilst, on the one hand, 
the public of Vienna had been so accustomed to look up with 


42 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


such reverence to the mighty ones as to have lost their power 
of measuring ordinary excellence with due appreciation; on 
the other ithad gained a power of refined critical judgment 
in all that was really good and great, which made every neo- 
phyte tremble to approach its dreaded judgment-hall. Haydn, 
now seventy-one years of age, still lived; but he had yielded 
his conductorship of the Italian opera to Salieri, himself no 
longer young. ‘The still greater pupil of these great masters, 
Beethoven, had but just begun to draw around him that magic 
circle of influence on Art which was later to spread out in pro- 
portions so colossal : moreover, he lived retired from the world. 
Paer had already seceded to Dresden; Righini had left Vienna 
even earlier; and Weigl now appeared but little on the stage 
of Art. But Vienna was still, in general repute, the great city 
of true harmony. Musical taste still seemed a portion of the 
very flesh and blood of its inhabitants. Not only in the theatre, 
but in churches and in concert-rooms, music was a religion : 
its high priests were many. 

The impression made upon the wanderers, as they looked 
around them in that brilliant city, must needs have been a daz- 
zling one. In all this glitter, Franz Anton felt himself at 
home; and it is probable that his ardent desire to place his 
child at once among the shining lights of this glorious hemis- 
phere may have induced him to change his original plans. 
There is no doubt that his primary intention had been to 
solicit the kind will of the great Haydn for his young compo- 
ser, on whom some of the boundless treasures of science pos- 
sessed by the immortal old man might have been well bestowed, 
and who came backed, not only by recommendations from 
Brother Michel, and Edmund von Weber, one of Haydn’s most 
favorite pupils, but by his own indisputable talent. Possibly 
the aged master, who had just completed two of his greatest 
and freshest oratorios, and was again at work, may have been 
too multifariously oceupied to give attention to the lad. It is 
still more probable that Franz Anton imagined his end might 
be more rapidly attained by the aid of another brilliant celeb- 


THE ABBE VOGLER. 43 


rity, at that time resident in Vienna. This was the Abbé 
Vogler. 

A singular apparition was the Abbé Vogler, one of the most 
celebrated musical theorists of his time; a man of great powers 
of judgment, and a mighty memory, which always stood him 
in good stead. The severe discipline of his ecclesiastical edu- 
cation had bestowed on him a capacity not only for order, but 
for organization; and his indisputable talent for teaching no- 
tably increased his influence over the young spirits of the age. 
His intercourse with the world was marked by the strangest 
contrasts. Asa pupil of the Jesuits, he was endowed with the 
faculty of always displaying that side of his multiform genius 
best adapted to his purpose or to the passing occasion. At 
once lively and imposing, purposely original in his manners, 
yet without ridiculous exaggeration; combining the dignity of 
the ecclesiastic, and the aristocratic bearing of a man of the 
world, with the bombast of the mountebank ; full of mysticism, 
which was made to play the part of profundity in his language ; 
apt to conceal deficiencies under the mask of self-confidence, — 
he was the very man to impose his influence on a great portion 
of the musical world; whilst by another he was attacked as a 
musical heretic and blasphemer. He had always had the ad- 
vantage of being supported by a powerful ecclesiastical party, 
by the great ones of the earth, and by the women: and thus, 
as a wandering apostle of his own musical religion, he had 
been accustomed suddenly to appear in various parts of the 
civilized world, and then as suddenly to vanish; at one time 
a prophet, at another a martyr; now in France, England, or 
Italy ; now in Greece, or on the northern coasts of Africa, 
From all these journeys he was supposed to have brought 
treasures of ancient musical lore, from which he reaped his 
best advantage. After years of wandering, he had sprung up 
in Vienna; and there, after having given his opera of “ Castor 
and Pollux” as an oratorio, had contrived to raise public ex- 
pectations to fever-pitch by mysterious, half-whispered revela- 
tions respecting his forthcoming opera of “Samori.” Such 


44 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


was the Abbé Vogler, when the Webers, father and sor, 
arrived in Vienna. 

It was natural that Franz Anton’s sympathies should have 
been attracted by such a spangled harlequin of art. There 
was a strong fellow-feeling in the characters of the two men : 
there was a strange likeness even in their features. Both were 
vain; both sought glitter more than solid truth; both were 
ever ready to sacrifice depth and worth to sparkling effect ; 
both loved the sensuous in art, in nature, in life, and in life’s 
ends and aims. In this much the Abbé Vogier had the ad- 
vantage of Franz Anton: the circumstances of his education, 
and the chances of his intercourse with the world, had seem- 
ingly given him the power of an alchemist, who could trans- 
form the veriest dross into gold; at all events, to the dazzled 
eyes of ordinary men. 

It is natural enough that the affectionate nature of the boy, 
Carl Maria, should have attached itself greatly to the new mas- 
ter given him in the Abbé Vogler. It is very probable also, 
that, unconsciously to himself; he may have felt instinctively 
the strange aflinity between the honored master and the father, 
whom, spite of all the old man’s weaknesses, he loved so fond- 
ly, and may have taken it to heart. But certain it is, that, to 
the last hour of his life, his attachment to Vogler never lost its 
strength. To Franz Anton the consent of Vogler to give in- 
structions to his son, obtained indirectly through a letter from 
his friend Count Medem in Salzburg to a Count Firmian in 
Vienna, appeared as much a stroke of good fortune as of pol- 
icy. It came about in this wise : — 

In the house of this Count Firmian, young Carl Maria made 
the acquaintance of Johann Baptist Ginsbacher, a young offi- 
cer, who had lately retired from the service with a golden 
medal in order to turn his ardent passion for music to account 
by studying under the Abbé Vogler. A fine, powerful, broad- 
shouldered young fellow was Giinsbacher, who, in addition to 
his darling art, loved wine, women, and rifle-shooting, of which 
he was a master. His free, jovial nature made a powerful im- 


A NEW FRIEND. 45 


pression on the lad, who quickly felt the influence of a com- 
panion older than himself by eight years, and soon learned to 
love him with an ardent and life-enduring friendship. Very 
- speedily he became a sharer in all his new friend’s youthful 
follies, joys, sorrows, purposes, and aspirations. The affection 
was reciprocal; and young Ginsbacher’s first service to Carl 
Weber was rendered in obtaining for him a hearing from the 
Abbé Vogler. The boy’s own talent did the rest. The abbé’s 
experienced tact recognized his genius at once. He forthwith 
invited the neophyte into his own choice band of favorite dis- 
ciples. 

With all his mountebank nature, the Abbé Vogler had the 
tact to see that this new gem was not to be spoiled by a false 
setting. He threw all the weight of his judgment and advice 
into the scale of renewed labor on the old dreary soil. It was 
a hard task to him to teach the ardent lad this duty of self- 
abnegation; it was harder still for the young composer to 
suppress his own creative power, and dispel his own dreams 
of beauty, in order to go back into the dusty region of dry 
research. But it was done: and, during his stay in Vienna, 
Carl Maria devoted almost all his energies to the study of the 
great masters of the past, under the guidance of the Abbé 
Vogler. Characteristic, however, of the worldly-wise abbé, is 
the fact, that in the midst of these important labors he busied the 
active lad with a piano-forte arrangement of the airs of his own 
opera of “ Samori,” which was then his great thought and care, 
and which was to be shortly produced with much pompous and 
imposing effect. ; 

For the first time, young Carl Maria was freed from the 
importunities of his father, who had gone back to Salzburg. 
He was now seventeen years of age. The seductions of a 
capital gay and dissipated as was Vienna offered themselves 
alluringly to his ardent young spirit. “ Wine, women, and 
song” was the favorite burden of his dashing young friend 
Giinsbacher; and could Carl Maria resist singing a second to 
the inviting strain? His poverty fortunately prevented his 


46 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


plunging headlong into the full stream of life. But he was 
young, amiable, talented; he sang delightfully; he played the 
guitar to admiration: and, to his own surprise, he found that 
women’s sparkling eyes lingered with even still greater favor 
on his own fragile frame than on that of his stalwart friend. 
The charms of the bright flower-bestrewn life around him 
were irresistible. Through carolling, kissing, drinking Vienna, 
he wandered with a troop of choice spirits, the brilliant 
Ginsbacher at their head, drinking, kissing, carolling. In the 
public gardens of the capital, sober citizens, with their wives 
and daughters, shrank into corners as the noisy merry band 
appeared. But who could resist the furtive glance and vainly- 
subdued titter when sprightly Carl Maria sang his roguish 
songs, to which Giinsbacher and company shouted their merry, 
laughing chorus? The intoxicating draught of pleasure, 
quaffed in that lively vapital, fevered the lad’s blood; and the 
ardent and imaginative temperament of the young genius 
burst forth in that adoration of female beauty, which, up to 
the period of his marriage, strewed his life’s path with roses, 
— not without thorns, however. But the pleasures and’ dissi- 
pations of Vienna were soon to have an end. 

Whether Vogler had opportunities of learning the lad’s 
talent for conducting by his assistance in the rehearsals of 

+“ Samori,” or had discovered it by other means, at all events, 
when Prof. Rhode, then director of the theatre at Breslau, 
wrote to the abbé, begging him to recommend a conductor for 
his orchestra, the great musical prophet put forward one of 
the youngest of his disciples. In his eighteenth year, Carl 
Maria von Weber was engaged for the conductorship of the 
Breslau opera. 

It was a hard struggle for the lad to quit Vienna and its joys. 
The separation from Vogler, from Giinsbacher, from his many 
friends, cost him dear; still dearer the necessity of tearing 
himself away from an attachment formed with a lady of rank, 
who, older than the stripling, seems to have loved him ardently. 
The struggle was indeed a hard one. But gratified ambition, 


APPOINTED CAPELLMEISTER AT BRESLAU. AT 


the allurements of a comparatively independent position, the 
hope of earning a provision for the old spendthrift, Franz 
Anton, were powerful motives for his decision to accept the 
offer. With heavy heart he tore himself from Vienna; and 
taking with him his father, who was again to live with him, he 
started, in September, 1804, for his new and important career 
in Breslau. ' 


CHAPTER V. 


WEBER’S FIRST CONDUCTORSHIP. 


A NEW epoch now began in the life of Carl Maria von 
Weber. His true creative power had first bloomed forth at 
Hamburg: his extraordinary faculty for artistic organization 
was now to be developed at Breslau. It was natural enough 
that both artists and public in that city should have regarded 
as much with mistrust as curiosity the young genius so sud- 
denly placed at the head of an establishment of no inferior 
mark in Germany, who had never climbed the old conventional 
ladder, step by step, from the orchestra into the conductor’s 
seat, but had flown on barely-fledged wings from his master’s 
nest to the summit of the orchestral tree. It must certainly 
have appeared an overweening audacity in the eyes of those 
who did not know the gifted youth’s earlier history. The 
theatre had been his cradle. Theatrical instincts had become 
a portion of his nature. The knowledge of theatrical work- 
ings and theatrical effect had come to him with the very 
alphabet of his childhood. At the same time, the self-confi- 
dence, natural to the son and pupil of Franz Anton, which 
animated the youth, only just emerging from his boyhood, and 
the announcement, by his boastful father’s mouth, of his deter- 
mination to raise the standard of taste in the town, were quite 
suflicient to cause the grave to shake their heads at such pre- 
sumption, and to raise a host of opponents to the boy-conductor 
on his very adyent into Breslau. 

48 


STATE OF MUSICAL ART IN BRESLAU. 49 


The musical taste of the public at Breslau was not, it is 
true, at any great pitch of cultivation, although many excellent 
musicians resided in the place. This state of things resulted, 
in great measure, from the social condition of the town. The 
sharply-defined divisions and sub-divisions of castes and 
classes then so paramount in Germany, and nowhere more 
rigidly enforced, were almost impassable barriers to any com- 
munity of feeling on the field of Art. The higher and richer 
nobility of the province lived on their estates during the sum- 
mer; and, when they returned to their town residences in win- 
ter, held themselves proudly aloof. The poorer nobility, who 
were chiefly in military service, and the government officials 
recruited from their ranks, could do no less than follow the 
example of their superiors. They all lacked the spirit or the 
means to distinguish themselves as Mecenases of art; and 
beyond dance-music, and the “table-music” of the period, 
were utter nonentities as regarded musical taste. The aris- 
tocracy of money was chiefly composed of those members of 
the tribes of Israel, who, although in a flourishing state of 
society they often distinguish themselves as lovers of art, in 
the more confined sphere of such a town as Breslau thought 
only of raising themselves in their social status by a slavish 
imitation of the toping, gambling, dancing habits of the lead- 
ers of fashion. The late bishop had withdrawn to Johannis- 
berg, and taken his choir with him; so that even church-music 
had sunk to the lowest ebb. A home for art was only to be 
found among the circles of the less richly endowed citizens, — 
the professors of the university, the officials of second rank, 
and the Christian traders, many of whose hearts, it cannot be - 
denied, beat warmly in its service. . 

This condition of things was, of all others, the one least 
favorable to the standing and character of the young conductor. 
The nobility took it ill that a youth of title should lower him- 
self to be a mere musician: the untitled burgher mistrusted 
him asa noble. Prejudice assailed him on every side; and 
thus it was that he was destined to assume his new posi- 

4 


50 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


tion, for which, even under favorable circumstances, he had 
scarcely yet sufficient power and weight, and in which he 
never felt himself at home, although it brought him the richest 
treasures of experience. 

The young and highly-recommended new conductor was 
received with kindness and distinction, however, by the man- 
agement of the theatre, which, after many misadventures, had 
been undertaken by a joint-stock company, composed of some 
of the most influential and best-educated citizens, with Pro- 
fessor Rhode at their head. By the zeal and exertion of the 
able and excellent professor, the orchestra had been freshly 
recruited and strengthened by some of the best instrumentalists 
of the day; although no reliance could be placed on their per- 
manent aid, inasmuch as they were ill remunerated, and nat- 
urally anxious to secure better engagements. In a similar 
position was placed a not ineffective troop of singers. Means, 
at least, were there to perform, with sufficient credit, the 
operas of Mozart, Daleyrac, and Vogler, and even to execute 
some of the best classical works in concert-form with a certain 
degree of excellence. The boy-conductor seized his baton 
with all the fire of his eighteen summers; perhaps also with an 
overweening sense of his new independence, evidenced by his 
resolve to lead his army to the musical fray wholly according 
to his own young will and fancy. He proceeded at once to 
exercise his inborn faculty for organization by a complete revo- 
lution of the long-established arrangement of the orchestra. 
Whereas the wind-instruments had been customarily placed in 
front, the string-instruments being arranged together farther 
behind, he now mingled them, after his own notions of effect, to 
the right and left of his seat. Like all novelties, this arrange- 
ment was sure to be displeasing. Both musicians in the 
orchestra, and public in the theatre, loudly complained of the 
acoustic result. Carl Maria listened to the objections, deliber- 
ated maturely, and ended by maintaining the worth of his 
innovation. An opposition party was consequently formed 
amongst both public and artists against the presumptuous boy- 


ee St 


WEBER WITH BERNER AND KLINGOHR. 51 


conductor. The young genius fought his battle manfully ; but 
his heart was wrung by the retirement in disgust of one of the 
most distinguished and able of his band, the first violin and 
leader, Schnabel. He felt this slight keenly, as an evil omen 
on his first steps in a new career. 

Spite of opposition, jealousy, envy, and enmity, however, 
Carl Maria found warm friends. Among the most zealous of 
these was young Friedrich Wilhelm Berner, a talented and 
even learned musical theorist, piano and organ player, and 
composer, who afterwards was destined to a widely-spread 
celebrity for his many genial works. He was about six years 
the lad’s senior. Carl Maria had brought a letter to him from 
his patron, the Abbé Vogler. He found in Berner a nature 
congenial to his own, — generous, gay, animated, almost reck- 
less in its wild love of life and life’s enjoyments. Both the 
young men were ardent worshippers of their art, both eager in 
the pursuit of pleasure. The two were speedily sworn friends. 
But Berner, spite his joviality, was a hard-working and highly- 
educated artist; and his influence upon the budding genius 
he took to his bosom, with as much admiration as love, was 
in many respects a powerful one. Carl Maria recognized his 
superior knowledge, and profited by his advice in composition. 
By a strange chance, another celebrated piano executant, 
Klingohr, happened to be in Breslau at the time. The three 


_ young artists were destined to exercise a singular action and 


re-action on each other. Berner, like Weber, was a worshipper 
of originality. But the former, with all his learning, was wont 
to sacrifice clearness of style to his desire to produce new and 
startling effects in harmony; whilst the latter, although striv- 
ing after an eccentricity bordering on the fantastic, even at the 
expense of artistic completeness, was undoubtedly richer in 
that wondrous flow of ideas springing from true genius. 
Klingohr, in his way, too, a hankerer after originality, repre- 
sented the spirit of clearness and standard correctness. 

All the flowers of Weber’s genius which budded during his 
stay ip Breslau show distinctly the training of the gardeners 


52 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


who helped to tend the plant at this period. The craving 
after originality which beset the minds of the three young 
musicians now brought together in so strange a triumvirate ot 
art, and which they reciprocally fostered even to rashness in 
each other, evidently had a tendency to lead Carl Maria’s 
creative powers into a sphere in which all old forms and rules 
were to be met by utter negation, and thus almost to stultify 
the teaching of such men as Heuschkel and Michel Haydn. 
All his compositions of this time bear more or less the impress 
of this exaggerated feeling, even to the best of his works writ- 
ten at Breslau, — his “ Ouverture Chinoise,” which in a milder 
form, and denuded of several orchestral monstrosities, was 
afterwards given as an appropriate overture to Schiller’s fan- 
tastic play of “ Turandot.” 

At the same time, there is no doubt, that, through the friendly 
rivalry of the three executants on the piano, Carl Maria 
arrived at the full consciousness of his own surprising powers 
in this branch of his art. His improvisations on the instru- 
ment became brilliant fairy-dreams. On all who heard him, his 
play produced what has been called “that spiritual intoxica- 
tion which seemed to bear their souls aloft to regions beyond 
humanity.” 

The friendship of Berner, a native of the town, and high in 
his fellow-citizens’ esteem, stood Carl Maria in good stead. 
His new friend shielded him with courage against his oppo- 
nents, defended his compositions and his workings with zeal 
against the carpings and snarlings of the harsh or incredulous, 
and protected him with all the warmth of a good heart 
when the tonzue of scandal assailed his character. He did 
even more. He generously gave up many of his own lessons 
to his friend when Carl Maria’s youthful extravagances quickly 
rendered his meagre salavy of six hundred thalers a very in- 
sufficient income. 

In truth, the state of society in Breslau was almost as dan- 
gerous to the youth’s ‘ardent spirit as the more brilliant city he 
had left ; and, in many ways, Carl Maria’s existence theae waa 


STATE OF SOCIETY IN BRESLAU. 53 


far from commendable. Life was rendered expensive by the 
rich luxurious nobles who flocked back to their palaces in win- 
ter. Morality was at the lowest ebb; play was high. Adven- 
turers of both sexes streamed to the capital of Silesia during 
the fashionable season; and a young artist’s temperament 
needed more courage than Carl Maria possessed to resist the 
allurements of forbidden fruit. 

The thoughtless young man was soon loaded with a heavy 
weight of debt, which, for many long years, he found it im pos- 
sible to remove from his weary shoulders. He was hampered, 
it was true, by the unlucky Franz Anton, whose speculations 
in Breslau as an engraver wholly failed. But the expenses of 
his own wild life were manifold; and one alone sufficed to drag 
him down. Many a female heart, no doubt, both within the 
theatre and without its walls, was allured by the sweet smile 
and seductive manners of the pale, slender, languishing, but 
passionately ardent young conductor; whilst his own heart 
seems to have been more seriously involved in an unfortunate 
and misplaced. attachment to a singer in the theatre. This 
woman was married to a rough drunkard, who mishandled her. 
The couple were daily falling more and more into an abject 
state of poverty. Young Carl Maria pitied the woman; and 
pity was soon transformed into the feeling next “akin.” That 
she was an unworthy object of either pity or affection is very 
clear: she misused his goodness of heart, gnawed incessantly 
at his slender purse, and quickly plunged him into a slough of 
difficulties nigh equal to her own. 

Less dangerous and less compromising pleasures were en- 
joyed by the young musician in merry social meetings of artists, 
and lovers of art, of which he himself, with his joyous songs 
and sparkling guitar, was always the life and centre, and at 
which Klingohr and Berner, and another stanch friend, a sin- 
gular, kind-hearted, clever young literary Falstaff, by name 
Ebell, the editor of the Breslau paper, kept the spirit of the 
party alive and the “table in a roar” by their witty sallies 
and their improvised choruses to Carl Maria’s ditties. Still 


54 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


better and steadier hours were passed by the youth in the 
houses of his director, Professor Rhode, and of Jacob.Lahn, an 
old merchant, and admirable amateur fiute-player, for whose 
talent on that instrument Weber composed his “ Romanza 
Siciliana.”” In both, the best music was often executed ; al- 
though it was allowed occasionally to run riot in the most ex- 
travagant comicalities, invented at the moment. From the 
Philharmonic Society of Breslau, where art might have 
been practised in its worthiest form, Carl Maria held himself 
aloof. Although its members were generally most friendly to 
the young musician, his old adversary, and, to the last, active 
opponent, Schnabel, there faced him always with his enmity; 
and collisions were disagreeable. Carl Maria’s life in Breslau 
was thus not always the most reputable. In his artistic career, 
however, he was still steadily climbing the rough ladder, which 
led, spite many a shaky step, to eminence and fame. 

His creative powers were not allowed to lie dormant. An 
opera-book, published early in 1804 by Professor Rhode, who 
was an author as well as a musician, upon the well-known 
legend of “ Rubezahl,” fell into Carl Maria’s hands. The sub- 
ject, although not treated in a masterly manner, attracted the 
youth’s poetic spirit by its supernatural fancy, and inspired him 
to recommence his composition for the stage. Beyond the 
overture, a chorus of spirits, an air, and a quintet, nothing, 
however, has been found on paper. These fragments, when 
shown to Ludwig Spohr by Weber himself in after-years, were 
pronounced by that great musician to be “amateurish enough,” 
and giving but little promise of that ripe talent which was to 
produce “ Der Freischttz” and “ Euryanthe.” The overture 
was, long afterwards, greatly remodelled by Weber, and given 
to the world in a form in which it was admitted among the 
ranks of his greatest compositions of the kind, as “The Ruler 
of the Spirits.” 

Meanwhile the young conductor’s efficiency in his post be- 
came more and more the subject of dispute and attack. Firm- 
ness, precision, correctness of tone, were all accorded him; bui 





ILL FORTUNES OF THE BRESLAU THEATRE. 55 


he was accused of regardlessness for the singers, and ,want 
of judgment in the choice of his tempo. Even his friend Ebell 
criticised this latter error, as detracting from the effect of many 
overtures. He was simply garnering up a store of experience 
for that proud time when he was the acknowledged master of 
conductorship. But even in Breslau he possessed the great 
gifts of steadiness in the thorough execution of his conceptions, 
and of power not only to inspire all around him with the spirit 
and fire which animated his own breast, but to hold his artists 
in his grasp as one body, to move in unison with the dictates 
of one soul. His greatest error lay in entire forgetfulness of 
the fact, that he was only yet a lad, and sat for the first time in 
the conductor’s seat. 

Matters could not last thus. Spite of the unflinching sup- 
port of Rhode, the young conductor was soon in collision with 
other members of the committee of management. He knew 
too well the nature of theatrical speculations, even from his 
childhood’s experience, not to be aware that financial results 
were paramount; and that operas, whatever their worth, must 
be given, if they draw full houses. But he hated the spirit of 
steady speculation, and urged on measures for the improvement 
of his operatic company by the engagement of superior artists, 
who demanded higher remuneration, and the dismissal of old 
artists whom he declared incompetent. He had the conceit to 
stake his credit on the result of these measures, and to guaran- 
tee the financial improvement of the fortunes of the theatre. 
But these promises were doomed to be unfulfilled. By the end 
of the year 1805, the deficit in the treasury of the establishment 
had increased. The directors murmured more than ever 
against their presumptuous conductor; a reduction of troop 
and orchestra were imperatively demanded ; and Weber’s posi- 
tion became more and more untenable. His hostility with 
Schnabel, now director of the cathedral choir, although none 
of his own seeking, injured him in public estimation. His at- 
tempt to rival his enemy in the production of Haydn’s “ Cre- 
ation ” terminated in no advantage to himself. In the midst 


56 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


of this state of things, a circumstance occurred which ended 
all. 

It had indeed nearly ended all, — the young composer’s life 
with his career. One day, Carl Maria had begged his friend 
Berner to come and hear his overture to “ Rubezahl,” just then 
completed. It was night when Berner arrived. <A light at 
Weber’s window showed that the youth was within. He 
mounted; knocked at the door, —no answer; again, — no note 
of friendly welcome. At last he pushed open the door, and 
entered. The lamp was on the table, the piano open; but 
where was Carl Maria? By the sofa, Berner stumbled. What 
was it? He had fallen upon the lifeless body of his friend; 
by his side a broken bottle, emitting a strong odor. He raised 
up the seeming corpse in his arms, and shouted for help. Franz 
Anton hurried from a neighboring room alarmed. With a 
elance, the father discovered that the bottle was one of a deadly 
acid used in his engraving. His boy was poisoned.: Doctors 
were called in; and with difficulty the unhappy youth was 
brought to life. But his mouth and windpipe were frightfully 
burned; his voice was gone. For weeks, the poor young fellow 
lay between life and death. At last came the merest whisper of 
a voice, the full force of which was never to return, the charm of 
which in song was to be impaired through life. At last the 
sufferer could explain, that, shivering with cold from prolonged 
work, he had stretched out his hand for a flask of wine which 
he knew was on the table; had seized the bottle of aquafortis 
left by culpable carelessness close by; had drank. His first 
power of articulation, however, was used to hail Berner as the 
savior of his life with all the fervor of his grateful heart: 
without his friend’s timely arrival, no doubt the genius which 
was to give “ Der Freischiitz,” “ Euryanthe,” and “ Oberon” 
to the world, would have been hushed forever in an early grave. 

For more than two months, the lad was unable to resume 
his duties. During his illness, his opponents had profited by 
his absence to work out their ends. He found his reforms igs 
nored, his orchestra enfeebled. His feelings were deeply 


CONDUCTORSHIP AT BRESLAU RESIGNED. 57 


wounded; and, spite of the entreaties of Rhode and other 
friends, he flung up his situation in disgust. But his time had 
not been spent in vain. A mighty spring had already been 
made from the scholar’s bench by Michel Haydn’s side to the 
conductor’s seat of a great national theatre, from the plodding 
scholar to the independent master ; and, if no great step in the 
right direction had been taken by Carl Maria as composer when 
in Breslau, he had dug deeply, even if painfully, in a mine of ex- 
perience which was to produce him the richest ore in after-days. 

The situation of Carl Maria was a painful one. Hampered 
by poor old Franz Anton, now an invalid, and harassed by 
his ‘creditors, he had no other resource but his meagrely remu- 
nerated lessons. He declared his intention to go forth on the 
wide world as a “tramping musical peddler.” His friends 
heard this wild resolve with grief, and did all they could to 
ameliorate his position by seeking him more pupils. But even 
this aid now galled his weary spirit. Things looked black in- 
deed; when a ray of sunshine gleamed through the clouds 
around him. In one of the few noble houses where the poor 
artist was admitted as teacher, he made the acquaintance of a 
Friulein von Belonde, maid of honor to the Duchess Louise of 
Wiirtemberg, who with her husband, Prince Eugen Friedrich 
of Wiirtemberg, dwelt on their domain of Carlsruhe in Silesia. 
Friiulein von Belonde an admirable piano-forte player; 
and she took the livelie® interest in the pale, amiable young 
artist, whose wonderful powers of improvisation enchanted her 
by their rich fancy. She was touched by his sad position, and 
resolved to assist him by every means in her power. An op- 
portunity offered itself in furtherance of her intention. 

The duke with his family had spent a portion of the previous 
winter in Breslau. A strange, fanciful, excitable nature was 
the duke’s. In early youth a passionate admirer of female 
beauty, he had afterwards given all his energies to the pursuit 
of mesmeric experiments, and was now as ardent and enthusi- 
astic an adept in music. Musie had become his passion, and 
the main aim and end of all his aspirations. Thus, when the 


58 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


domain of Carlsruhe in Silesia fell into his possession by the 
extinction of another branch of the Wiirtemberg family, he not 
only reconstructed his palace, erected churches and schools, 
and made of the secluded residence a brilliant little court, 
where powdered and pigtailed courtiers, with cocked-hat and 
sword, wandered hand in hand with lofty-wigged and high- 
heeled beauties through the wondering green forests; but he 
built a magnificent theatre which many a capital might have 
envied, and invited a little dramatic and operatic world around 
him. This theatre was under the direction of the Chevalier 
von Rohr, and operatic or dramatic performances took place 
there twice a week. Concerts of classical music were there 
given also. Free admission was granted to all. On some oc- 
casions only, money was demanded for charitable purposes; 
and, on these nights especially, crowds flocked from far and 
near to do honor to the duke, who smiled with pride to witness 
such proofs of the high fame of his: admirable and far-prized 
establishment. In truth, both orchestra and company were 
excellent; and in its small proportions the institution was one 
of the most perfect of its kind in Germany. ‘The affable, 
kindly, enthusiastic devotee of music — whose spirit, joined to 
that of his amiable duchess, herself a distinguished musician, 
swayed this genial undertaking — had heard Carl Maria play, 
and marked his talent as conductor; and he had not forgotten 
the pleasure the brilliant youth had given him. Of this fact 
Fraulein von Belonde was aware; and she urged the young 
man to appeal to this genuine and noble Mecenas of art for 
his patronage and protection in some form or other. 

Carl Maria was then on the point of undertaking his ven- 
turesome journey : his passport was already in his pocket. No 
better idea struck him than that the duke, by conferring on him 
some nominal and titular function connected with his musical 
institute in Carlsruhe, might bestow on him a distinction which 
might be of advantage to him in his wanderings. A petition 
to this effect was forwarded to the duke by the interposition of 
Carl Maria’s fair young protectress.’ - But this application was 


CARLSRUHE IN SILESIA. 59 


again nigh ruined by the misplaced “ fine-gentleman ” notions 
of the boastful Franz Anton, who, it would seem, could find 
nothine better to do than to insert some high-flown phrases 
about the distinguished nobility of the Weber family. The 
duke’s answer was favorable and complimentary. He bestowed 
_upon the youth the title of his own “ Musical Director,” but 
expressly, as the formal diploma had it, on account of his own 
distinguished talent alone, and “in no manner whatever on ac- 
count of his family, of which no consideration was taken.” 
Spite of this little sharp reproof, however, the feelings of the 
duke towards the struggling genius were of the most kindly. A 
proof of this was yet to come. 

The position of Carl Maria grew more and more distressing. 
The results of the French victories in Austria and Southern 
Germany rendered all his plans of travel vain. The tide of 
war was fast advancing. Alarm took possession of all minds 
in Breslau. Retrenchment and retirement were the order of 
the day; lessons in music ceased altogether; and the poor 
youth was now in bitter want. Difficulties were even in- 
creased by the arrival of Aunt Adelheid, who had fled in 
alarm from Munich for greater protection by the side of her 
male relatives. Under these circumstances, Duke Eugen and his 
excellent wife offered Carl Maria an asylum for an unlimited 
period in their palace at Carlsruhe, in such wise, too, as though 
the favor were bestowed on them. But Carl Maria had too 
much innate tact of heart not to feel how much he was their 
debtor, and not to offer his services as artist or conductor 
whenever he could be made useful, without a thought of re- 
muneration. The good duke did more. Scarcely had Carl 
Maria arrived, during the autumn of 1806, at that little ducal 
nest of song, so quaintly perched on a forest branch, when, 
having learned that the youth’s old father and his aunt had 
been left behind in Breslau in most wretched circumstances, 
he insisted on their being immediately summoned too, and pro- 
vided for with care. A ray of sunlight had thus, in truth, 
smiled down upon Carl Maria through his darkest clouds ; and 


60 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


now, for atime at least, he was able to glide down the stream 
of life in peace, fanned by a pleasant air, seeing his dreams of 
a true artist’s best existence shaping themselves into realities. 
There is no doubt that the period spent by him in that little 
quaint but brilliant Silesian residence was one which he could 
always look back upon as a brilliant spot in his checkered and 
troubled life. He himself was accustomed to speak of this 
time as “a golden dream;” when, with a heart lightened of 
life’s cares, he felt “a fresh spring of music gushing up within 
him like a fairy fountain.” 

Life at the court of the original and amiable prince was not 
without that stiffness and formality indigenous to all German 
courts; but it was gay and lively. Carl Maria resided as a 
guest in one of the houses arranged for the ducal household 
before the palace-gates ; his old father and aunt being provided 
for in a dwelling close at hand. His breakfast was brought 
him by the ducal lackeys; but at dinner he was an expected 
and ever-welcome guest at the palace; and there in the even- 
ing he was always one of the court-party assembled round the 
tea-table or the piano of the good duchess, and one of the 
brightest ornaments of that clever little musical coterie. 
Theatrical rehearsals and performances occupied much time. 
But the greatest charm of this charming little court of the 
Muses lay in the evenings passed in the more select family 
circle, when music, wit, female fascination, amiability, and fine 
feeling, all combined, under the guidance of that clever, excel- 
lent, friendly worshipper of art and artist’s talent, the Duke 
Eugen, to throw especial lustre on an existence devoted to 
some of the choicest aspirations of humanity. 

As may be well understood, the productive powers of Carl 
Maria blossomed luxuriously under such sunny auspices. The 
young composer was never happier than when he laid some 
new composition on the music-desk of the ever-grateful duke 
or duchess, or distributed the parts of some new work among 
the members of the orthestra ; never better pleased than when 
he listened to the judgment of the eminent artists by whom he 


COURT LIFE IN THE COUNTRY. 61 


was surrounded, or entered into friendly discussion with them 
on the merits of each last production. A fresh stamp was 
given to his talent during this happy time. The favorite com- 
poser, the idol, the demigod of Duke Eugen, was Joseph 
Haydn; and the constant execution of the works of this ereat 
master doubtless exercised a notable influence on the form and 
nature of the compositions which now flowed from Carl Maria’s 
unfettered pen, and determined, in the progressive develop- 
ment of his genius, a step which departed considerably from 
the ground he had trodden during the Breslau period. The 
principal of these compositions were two symphonies, both 
written in the space of six weeks: one seemingly for the pur- 
pose of displaying the talent of Dantrevaux, a famous horn- 
player, then attached to the ducal orchestra; the other, in all 
probability, in honor of the duke himself, who was a distin- 
guished virtuoso on the oboe. ‘The former of the two works 
still bears some traces of the style of Vogler: the second, 
simpler in construction, and yet even richer in melody, seems 
to have been inspired by Haydn alone. Both, although some- 
what over-labored and tortured in the instrumentation, are so 
replete with charming and sweet melodies, and with original 
effects of harmony, that to this day they delight all hearers by 
their youthful freshness, however much musical periwigs may 
shake their obstinate old heads. 

But “all’s that bright must fade.” This period was far too 
bright to last. The harmonious circle was suddenly broken 
up in the month of September, 1806, by a summons to the 
duke to join the army, where shortly afterwards a corps fell 
to his command. In the hope that the campaign would not be 
of long duration, the duchess remained behind at Carlsruhe, 
and kept her beloved husband’s favorite company together. 
But the winter only passed amidst the saddest doubts and 
fears. Continued misfortune attended the Prussian arms 
The French were in Berlin and Warsaw. The duchess, how- 
ever, would not allow the Webers to quit her little court: her 
hospitality never for a moment flinched. At last the results 


62 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


of the battle of Eylau, the fall of Dantzic, the battle of Fried- 
land, began to tell heavily, not only on the political, but the 
social state of Germany. <A deadly blight fell upon the whole 
country. It was impossible any longer to support the artistic 
establishment at Carlsruhe : the company was dispersed. But 
the duke had too kind a heart not to use all his efforts to find 
a future provision for all the members of his artistic corps. 
When their talents could not be rendered available in their 
own sphere, they were in many cases temporarily bestowed in 
situations, — frequently the most incongruous and unfitted, — 
in the civil. service or in private houses, anywhere, every- 
where, till better times should come. 

Among the most helpless of all these sufferers by the mis- 
fortunes of the times was poor Carl Maria. He saw the 
“golden dream” suddenly vanish like a bright summer rain- 
bow, to leave the darkness deeper than ever around him. Not 
only would want now stare him in the face, but his poor old 
father, his old aunt, would look to him for their support. 
From the earliest times he had always hated the insolent con 
querors of his country, with their invincible but pitiless hero 
at their head. But now the misery they entailed struck home 
to himself; and when he saw Germany divided against Ger- 
many at the beck of the invader, and German brother hand 
to hand in bitter strife with German brother, his hatred grew 
to an intensity which preyed upon his mind. Later it found 
vent in song burning with patriotic fire. But, in the fearful 
turmoil and oppression of those days, scenes of such misery 
soon passed before his very eyes, that his once-happy home in 
Carlsruhe became intolerable to him in his state of nervous 
irritation. In and around Carlsruhe lay the Wirtemberg 
troops, then in alliance with the French. They were com- 
manded by that military monster, Vandamme, whose pleasure 
and whose pride it seemed to be to urge on his German troops 
to a pitch of unbridled licentiousness and savage barbarity 
which might exceed the excesses of the French; make them, if 
possible, still more abhorrent to their own countrymen than 


HORRORS OF THE FRENCH INVASION. 63 


the foreigner; and enable him to answer all the lamentations 
of the wretched inhabitants with a crim smile, and the jeering 
words, “ Que voulez-vous? Ce sont vos compatriotes !” No 
more fearful a band of murdering robbers ever devastated a 
country than these German troops in their own land. Quar- 
tering a Wiirtemberger and utter ruin became synonymous 
terms to the miserable Silesians. It is true, that, althougL 
Duke Eugen was serving in the Prussian army as a general, 
his private property, as a Wiirtemberg prince, was respected 
by these marauders. But day by day the palace was crowded 
by unhappy wretches from the country round, weeping over 
the loss of all their goods ; mourning their murdered relatives ; 
calling vainly for vengeance for their dishonored wives, daugh- 
ters, and sisters. Carl Maria’s heart was wrung: he could 
bear the misery no longer. But what was to be done? All 
hopes of earning his livelihood by his art were lost to him. 
The time was not yet come when public feeling would become 
accustomed to the horror and confusion of the strife; when 
men would dance and sing to the music of the cannon; when 
theatres would be crowded on the very evening of the day that 
battle had raged in the streets; when artfsts would gather 
great receipts in a town which was one huge hospital, with 
thousands of corpses lying unburied at its gates. And, at that 
hour, what was to be done for Carl Maria in his need ? 

The good duke had not forgotten him. Even in the midst 
of the tumult of events, he had communicated on the subject 
with his brothers, the King of Wiirtemberg and Duke Ludwig. 
As Carl Maria’s guiding-star then willed it, —a bright star, to 
light him into a haven of rest, it then appeared, — an evil star 
it proved, however, — Duke Ludwig had just then been de- 
prived of his private secretary by promotion in the royal 
service, and offered to appoint the young man so highly 
recommended by his brother, and of noble birth moreover, to 
the vacant post. Such a position might be a mine of wealth: 
in Carl Maria’s eyes, it was just then a welcome livelihood. 

In starting from that miserable Carlsruhe, young Weber was 


64 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


obliged to leave father and aunt fora time behind him. He 
hastened to Breslau to fetch certain papers left there; and in 
the confusion of affairs, owing to the war, he was enabled to 
pass ten days there, unmolested by his numerous creditors. 
With that elastic feeling which was the privilege of his joyous 
youth, he even shook off all memory of the misery which had 
so long weighed upon him, and spent again, amidst old ac- 
quaintances, some of those jovial evenings which but scarce 
escaped the term of bacchanalian orgies. The ears of his 
creditors were at last awakened by the noisy mirth, however ; 
and, on the 6th of March, he was obliged to quit the town fur- 
tively at early dawn. 

He had time at his command before entering upon his new 
position, it would seem: for he journeyed slowly by the way 
of Dresden, Leipsic, Bayreuth, Nuremberg, and Anspach; now 
hunting up old friends, now striving to give concerts; failing 
at one time in his efforts, succeeding at another. At last, on 
the 17th of July, he reached Stuttgart, the place where he was 
doomed to pass some of the most wretched hours of his life in 
expiating cruelly deeds of levity and indiscretion, and in suf- 
ferme the unmerited harshness of gross tyranny. Here, too, 
one of the great changes of life awaited him. From youth he 
was to ripen into settled manhood. 





CHAPTER VI. 


> 


WURTEMBERG AND ITS CAPITAL IN 1807. 


IN order fully to understand the events which rendered Carl 
Maria’s sojourn at Stuttgart one of the most remarkable pe- 
riods of his life, it is necessary that some idea should be given 
of the extraordinary stage on which these events were acted. 

For a long and weary series of years, Wiirtemberg had 
groaned under the oppression of Duke Carl; and vain appeals 
had been made to the tribunal of the emperor for the restora- 
tion of the constitution, of which the country had been de- 
spoiled by that ruthless sovereign. The imperial verdict had 
at last been given in favor of the people’s rights; and Wiir- 
temberg had again seen its constitution restored, but at a heavy 
price. This boon had been obtained only through incessant 
bribery of the officials at Vienna. Millions had flowed from 
the strong boxes of the country into the pockets of every possi- 
ble government-officer of the emperor, until the good people of 
Wiirtemberg had accustomed themselves to see unlawful gold 
paid and received for unlawful or even lawful service, and to 
look upon corruption as a legitimate, or at all events a neces- 
sary, state of things. Thus when Duke Carl encouraged his 
rascally ministers in their abominable traflic of all government 
appointments, and clutched the lion’s share of the spoil into 
his own hands, all proper feeling of right and wrong had been 
already crushed in his people’s hearts, and their natural sense 

5 65 


66 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


of the infamy of bribery and corruption had been lost in the 
all-absorbing fact of general practice. The reckless extrava- 
gance of Duke Carl had played its part, too, towards the com- 
mon moral degradation of the country. The revenues of the 
State had been squandered in mad military expeditions; in 
hunting-excursions of long duration, when miles upon miles of 
land were devastated, and wildernesses created, without a 
thought of compensation, — when the peasant was forced into 
the service of the duke’s pleasures, and sank or perished under 
the cruel labor; in the gorgeous splendors of his theatre ; 
in his luxurious ballet, in which Vestris alone received ten 
thousand florins salary ; in the wondrous scenery and machine- 
ry of the stage, on which the great scene-painter Columba 
was employed at a remuneration as extravagant; in wild ca- 
prices, such as the warming of whole lakes in winter for the 
ducal duck-shooting ; in the absurdly lavish magnificence of a 
court, where princes bowed as courtiers, and the noblest ladies 
flaunted as high priestesses of pleasure; in equipages; in 
orange-houses; in mythological fétes ; in displays of fireworks, 
the least of which had cost its tons of gold. The people 
groaned ; the middle classes hung their heads in shame and 
despair. Courtiers and favorites alone grinned with exultation 
as they in turn clutched the stray spoils of the shameless oppres- 
sion, and made their rich profits out of their Judas-trade with 
the very blood and marrow of the land. Corruption had be- 
come the idol of the day; and all who could draw near the 
temple had bowed down to it, and worshipped. 

True, the restoration of the constitution by the imperial 
will of that enemy of all oppression, the Emperor Joseph I1., 
backed by the remonstrances of Prussia, Denmark, and Eng- 
land, had somewhat cleared the atmosphere of the deadly 
political malaria which had poisoned the whole duchy; and 
the singular influence of Franziska von Bernardin had gradu- 
ally softened down the asperities of character in the savage 
duke, and even led him to the recognition of the possible ex- 
istence of good, and to something like a repentance for the 


THE FORTUNES OF THE DUCHY. 67 


past. Under her mild, guiding hand, the uproar of the court 
had been hushed ; courtiers had been allowed no more to play 
at pitch-and-toss with millions wrung from the people; the 
famous hunting-expeditions had no longer tortured the land ; 
the bitter babble of the priests had been hushed; the service 
had been read in the palace-chapel in plain German ; and that 
ereat institution, the celebrated Carlschule, had been founded. 
But the change had come too late. The cancer of corruption 
had preyed too deeply on the very vitals of the land to be 
eradicated now. The conscience of a people had been too 
profoundly crushed for them to see at once the dishonor of 
such practices as the sale of justice or injustice in high market- 
place. To open their eyes from their blindness, and show 
them this dishonor in its true hideous form, was a purpose 
which had been far from the thoughts of Duke Carl’s succes- 
sor, the bigot Liutdwig Eugen, who had brought back the crawl- 
ing plague of Capuchin monks, had suppressed the Carlschule, 
had performed penances and pilgrimages, but, fortunately for 
himself, had died in 1795, before his dreaded “ Incarnation of 
the Antichrist,” the French Revolution, knocked rudely for 
admission at his palace-cates. 

The rightly-thinking had seen a sun of hope for the land 
dawn in the accession to power of Duke Friedrich Eugen, 
who had been a hero among the heroes of Friedrich the Great. 
He had, in truth, given the greatest promise of being the future 
father of his people. He might have been the man to recall 
the true good old spirit of-honest Wiirtembere to life once 
more by the infusion of his own true spirit. But the invading 
tide of the revolutionary armies in the’ land had swamped for 
the time his efforts for internal reform; and then came death 
to extinguish the light of his rising star forever. Hopes 
had been again awakened in all good hearts, however, when 
men thought to see the inheritance of the paternal virtues in 
his son Friedrich, who mounted the ducal throne in 1797, freely 
took his solemn oath to preserve the constitution, wisely re- 
stricted the overweening privileges of the nobles, raised the 


68 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


condition of the middle classes, accepted as a theory the prog- 
ress of the age, and gave the world to believe that in him had 
arisen a prince in whom Duty, Honor, Trust, might have been 
the watchwords of the land. How bitterly had these hopes 
been deceived ! 

Duke Friedrich, on his accession to the ducal throne, had a 
life rich in experiences of many kinds behind him. He had 
served the great Catharine of Russia, but without any advan- 
tage to the better qualities of his heart; had left his wife, a 
princess of Brunswick, in Petersburg; and, in his intercourse 
with Cossack hetmans and semi-barbarian princes and ofli- 
cers, had adopted those brutal habits, which, in later life, earned 
him the bitter hate of all around him. He had travelled 
through France, regardless of the raging conflagration of the 
revolution; had finally settled in Wiirtemberg, in spite of the 
savage Duke Carl, who feared his energy; and, in the year 
of his accession to the throne, had married, as his second wife, 
Charlotte Matilda Augusta, princess of England, and daughter 
of George III. He had not long seized the reins of power 
when he had altogether changed the tone in which he had at 
first addressed his “ beloved people.” He had announced him- 
self as head and master; had declared that right existed only 
in his grace and favor. During the breaking-out of the war 
between France and Austria, he had at first: dismissed with 
ignominy his ministers, who counselled a neutrality; had sent 
Batz, the advocate of the people’s rights at Vienna, in chains 
to the fortress of Hohenasberg; and had then fled before the 
- victorious armies of Moreau and Vandamme, with all his treas- 
ures and valuables, to Erlangen. He had even obtained by 
the most cunning diplomacy, on the peace of Luneville, the 
electoral dignity, besides an ample indemnity for his loss 
of territory on the left bank of the Rhine. But a change had 
come in his policy. His autocratic notions had been wonder- 
fully tickled by that arch-designer Napoleon, whom he had 
received at Ludwigsburg on the 2d October, 1804, and who 
had won him over to his cause by the coarsest flattery, spite 


KING FRIEDRICH OF WURTEMBERG. 69 


of the contempt and hatred the proud duke felt for the new 
emperor as a low-born parvenu. In return for his adherence 
to the Confederation of the Rhine, he had received, from the 
conquering master of all, the outlying Austrian domains in 
Suabia, and the title of king! 

King Friedrich had announced his new dignity to his won- 
dering subjects with immense pomp; having, only two days 
before, revoked the constitution, packed off to their homes the 
Assembly of the Estates, and taken all the treasures and 
archives of that body into his own possession. The country 
had seen in terror and dismay its long-established rights crushed 
by the despotic will of their new self-appointed autocrat; and 
had shuddered before the return of the worst days of his ruth- 
less predecessor, the Duke Carl. 

Seldom has a prince been judged so differently as King 
Friedrich of Wiirtemberg. Seldom, most assuredly, has a mon- 
arch been so universally hated by subjects of every kind and 
degree as he was. It is very difficult to paint a clear, unbiassed 
picture of the man. That he far surpassed his dreaded uncle 
Carl in natural genius, in talent and acquirements, and in far- 
sighted discernment, cannot be doubted; but he surpassed 
him, too, in coarseness, harshness, and ruthless dealing with 
his subjects. True it is, also, that his political views were far 
keener than those of his estates; that the constitution of the 
country was antiquated in form, and unsatisfactory in its work- 
ing. But what did he give in return for this constitution, such 

“as it was; and for the indifferent laws the estates enacted, in- 
sufficient as they might be? Only the government of his own 
ruthless will. For the oppression of the patrician and clerical 
orders, he substituted the far more galling oppression of his 
coarse soldiery, his unworthy favorites, and his absurdly or- 
ganized official hierarchy. Surely it was a step from bad to 
worse. Again were places sold to incapable creatures of his 
preference, from whom the country shrank as from evil spirits, 
or bestowed in a manner still more shameful. The judgments 
of his tribunals became mere forms: punishments were gen- 


70 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


erally increased in rigor by the royal will. Taxes were imposed 
and enforced at royal pleasure. Police regulations, the severity 
of which was meant to throw a mask over the utter demorali- 
zation of the time, were intrusted to instruments who had 
obtained their posts by the darkest by-paths, and executed 
their duty in the most odious ways. New monopolies were 
created. The property of the universities was absorbed by 
the State, although new professorships were created ; and some 
of the most distinguished professors of the day received their 
patent of nobility. Military conscription was carried on with 
a brutality from which none were exempt as heretofore, — 
except, indeed, persons immediately attached to the royal ser- 
vice, —a brutality to which the harshest ordinances of Fried- 
rich the Great were child’s-play. The reckless hunting-expe- 
ditions of Duke Carl were again revived with all their cruel 
rigors, .their terrors, and their devastations. In every com- 
monest affair of daily life, —in marriages, in choice of schools, 
in journeyings to and fro, —-the royal will and permission ruled 
and directed all. 

King Friedrich of Wiirtemberg never, perhaps, raised his 
horse to the consulate; but he systematically lowered even the 
highest of the land, who were not in his service, to a rank be- 
low his lowest menials. No man could venture to pass before 
the gates of the royal palaces in Stuttgart or Ludwigsburg 
without humbly taking off his hat, even in the wildest weather. 
Tf any dared to sin against this ordinance, which out-gesslered 
Gessler, the sentinels were instructed to strike their hats from 
their heads. 

The royal court, whether at Stuttgart or Ludwigsburg, was 
brilliant in the extreme. King Friedrich loved pomp, show, and 
glitter. Court-oflicers there were in unlimited numbers, and of 
every description. Of chamberlains alone, three hundred 
swarmed in the apartments of the luxurious monarch. A con- 
spicuous feature was formed by the hosts of handsome young fel- 
lows, in semi-official posts, as pages and younkers, with whom 
the king loved to associate; and who, after brief service, were 


wa 


KING FRIEDRICH’S COURT. 71 


generally rewarded with lucrative appointments, and patents of 
nobility. The palaces were spangled too, like flower-gardens, 
with the brilliant uniforms of the young officers of the Garde du 
Corps, Chevaux Legers, and the other four guard regiments of 
the king’s ridiculously expensive army. They rang from day to 
night with music, with mirth, with the uproar of the unseemly 
pranks of spoiled pages, in whose loose tone and manners his 
majesty was wont to take exuberant delight. 

Friedrich had an especial predilection for exercising his sove- 
reign rights in the distribution of patents of nobility. These 
favors, as well as the highest posts, were generally bestowed 
on adventurers from other parts of Germany. It naturally fol- 
lowed, that, whilst the king himself was feared and unloved, his 
ministers and favorites were hated and despised. The most 
remarkable, but at the same time the lowest and most con- 
temptible, of these detested favorites, was a Gen. Count von 
Dillen, who, from a groom in the ducal stables, had risen from 
rank to rank, overwhelmed with honors, without one single re- 
commendation either in military or administrative service. 
Dillen was the evil genius of the king. His influence over 
Friedrich was enormous; and, strong in this high favor, he was 
accustomed to enrich himself, with open shamelessness, by the 
lucrative trade of selling government appointments. He even 
invented a new method of raising money, which was afterwards 
carried on surreptitiously by many persons about the court of 
Wiirtemberg, and which consisted in selling to young men 
nominal appointments at court, which alone would free them 
from the military conscription. The fact of this practice was 
doomed to exercise a fearful influence on the fortunes of Carl 
Maria. , 

One word more as to the personality of a man with whom, 
for his woe, the young composer was destined to come in con- 
tact. The king was awfully fat; and his unwieldy corpulence 
increased so frightfully from year to year, that, even in 1807, a 
semicircular space was cut in his dining-tables to permit him 
to approach near enough to feed himself. His face was pale; 


72 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


his bloated cheeks fell heavily on his fourfold chin; his eyes 
were small, but bright and lively; his mouth was not without 
expression; and his smile was even genial and pleasant. He 
spoke much and rapidly, at times with brilliancy and wit; but 
quite as frequently in a tone of coarse jocosity, not unmixed 
with filth. His anger was terrible, maniacal in its demonstra- 
tion; but his affection was even more to be dreaded than his 
rage. 

Next in rank to the king stood his brother, Prince Ludwig 
Friedrich Alexander, who in 1807 was fifty-one years of age, 
and who had arrived about that period, after seeing his hopes 
of becoming King of Poland utterly destroyed, to live at the 
court of Stuttgart with his wife, a princess of Nassau-Weilburg, 
and his young family. He led a dissolute and expensive life; 
was continually appealing to the purse of his royal brother, 
with whom, on that account, he was in a permanent state of 
antagonism; and yet was always in the most painful pecuniary 
embarrassments, to escape from which he frequently resorted to 
the most desperate measures. It was for this reason, perhaps, 
that he demeaned himself to affect the most intimate friendship 
with the unworthy favorite Dillen. Less coarsely passionate 
and demonstrative than his brother, he was at the same time 
less open and sincere in love or hate; and he was constantly 
engaged in misty intrigues, either to attain his ends, or to con- 
ceal his delinquencies from a brother whose anger he feared. 
Unlike his amiable and excellent brother Eugen, he had no 
love for music; and only visited the opera for the sake of the 
pretty women he might see. This was the prince into whose 
service Carl Maria von Weber entered, on the 1st Au- 
gust, 1807. 

Thus, then, was the fiery young artist, his wild oats not yet. 
fully sown, plunged into a new world, where no true sense of 
right or wrong was known; where virtue and morality were 
laughed to scorn; where, in the chaotic whirlpool of a reckless 
court, money and influence at any price were the sole ends and 
aims of life; where, in the confusion of the times, the insecu- 





WEBER AS DUCAL SECRETARY. 73 


sity of all conditions, and the ruthless despotism of the govern- 
ment, the sole watchword of existence, from high to low, was 
“ Aprez nous le déluge!” 

It has been necessary to present this somewhat lengthy de- 
scription of the condition of the court of Stuttgart at the begin- 
ning of the nineteenth century, as a prologue to the drama of 
Carl Maria’s life in the capital of Wirtemberg. Through a 
picture of such a state of society alone can it be shown how 
the events, which flang a blighting shadow upon the otherwise 
so brilliant surface of his noble character throughout existence, 
sprang up as the natural rank produce of the impure soil which 
he was now destined to tread, unwary, and unheeding its cor- 
ruption. 

It was on the 19th August, 1807, that Carl Maria first paid 
his respects to his new patron at Ludwigsburg. Probably from 
the very first, there was a feeling the reverse of sympathy 
between the two. But the young man had been recommended 
to the duke as active and intelligent; and the prince had just 
then no choice. To the ardent young artist his new duties 
were utterly uncongenial: no one study of his past life had 
fitted him for such a service as that of private secretary to a 
royal duke, and comptroller of a ducal household. Yet such 
were his new titles, such his new avocations. The duke kept 
a tolerably imposing court of his own. The family consisted 
of the princess, his wife; his son by his first marriage with a 
Princess Czartoriska, the Prince Adam, a tall, noisy, arrogant 
stripling of fifteen; and five young children by his second 
marriage. The household was made up, besides the higher 
officers and ladies, of a host of paid and unpaid servants and 
strange on-hangers, some of whom were destined to play a 
part in the young musician’s own drama. As secretary, Carl 
Maria had not only to undertake the private correspondence 
of the prince, but sundry far from agreeable personal commu- 
nications with people of rank and the numerous herd of credit- 
ors. As comptroller, he had to regulate the expenses of the 
household, manage the duke’s privy purse, and keep the books 


74 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


of receipts and expenses. A strange mass are the books, still 
extant. They say but little for Carl Maria’s talent as a book- 
keeper; but they speak volumes as regards the duke’s private 
life. The chief expenses lie in sums paid for horses, dogs, 
hunting-parties, journeys, play-debts, wine, endless pensions, 
and allowances of very doubtful origin. Enormous sums are 
noted only in undecipherable hieroglyphics. Each month’s 
account ends with a fresh deficit, for which a new loan is 
rendered imperative; and for each recurring negotiation poor 
Carl Maria has to be employed, often under the most distress- 
ing conditions. 

The business the most disagreeable, and certainly the most 
dangerous, for a young man, was his daily communication with 
petitioners for favors, or clients on private matters of a ques- 
tionable kind. Temptation lay ever in his path in the circle 
of which he now formed the centre, —a flattering, fawning set, 
that never looked too closely at the means of catering for his 
favor; a crowd, in which not only high-placed civil and mili- 
tary servants, but even members of the royal house, thronged 
eagerly around him. Well may Carl Maria, as he cast despair- 
ing looks into the chaotic confusion of all the affairs, private 
and financial, of his patron, have felt in his heart of hearts, 
that he, the inexperienced, ardent youth of one and twenty 
years, who had lived till then in the atmosphere of Art alone, 
was no Atlas to take such a world of ruin and corruption on 
his shoulders. 

But the intercourse with purveyors, creditors, petitioners, 
money-lenders, and Jews, was not the most painful to which 
the youth had to submit. The king, as has been remarked, 
was in a chronic state of irritation against Duke Ludwig on 
account of his dissolute life and reckless expenditure. He 
could shut his eyes to his own excesses; but those of his 
brother were unpardonable. Besides, after every controversy, 
it was he who had to pay all debts, in order to save the honor 
of the family. When these collisions took place, it was the 
young secretary who had, only too often, to beard the lion in 


“er 


wo 
x 


fin 


fe ee, ey 


ait) 


¥ 


[eres 





~ 


WEBER WITH THE KING. tS 


his den. Some of the darkest hours of his life were those 
passed in the cabinet of the dreaded monarch. When Private 


Secretary Von Weber was commissioned to lay before the 


king some very desperate condition of affairs, in which his 
helping hand was needed to fill an empty treasury or avert 
the consequences of a compromising scrape, it was the custom 
of majesty to burst into an immoderate fit of passion, and vent 
the foulest abuse on the unlucky head of the innocent mes- . 
senger. On such occasions Friedrich let forth a torrent of 
words, and allowed nobody to speak but himself: reasoning or 
representation were wholly out of the question. The stam- 
mering, stuttering, shrieking rage of the hideously-corpulent 
king, who, on account of his unwieldy obesity, was unable to 
let his arms hang by his side, and who thus eesticulated wildly 
and perspired incessantly, and had the habit, moreover, of 
continually addressing his favorite, generally present on these 
occasions, with the appeal, “ Pas vrai, Dillen?” between each 
broken sentence, would have been inexpressibly droll, had not 
the low-comedy actor of the scene been an autocrat, who might, 
at a wink, have transformed laughter into tears. But there 
was a demoniacal comicality about the performance, which, if 
it did not convulse the spectator, made him shudder to his 
heart’s core. 

Weber hated the king, of whose wild caprice and vices he © 
witnessed daily scenes, before whose palace-gates he was 
obliged to slink bareheaded, and who treated him with unmer- 
ited ignominy. Sceptre and crown had never been imposing 
objects in his eyes, unless worn by a worthy man; and conse- 
quently he was wont, in the thoughtless levity of youth, to forget 
the dangers he ran, and to answer the king with a freedom of 
tone which the autocrat was all unused to hear. In turn, he 
was detested by the monarch. As negotiator for the spend- 
thrift Prince Ludwig, he was already obnoxious enough ; and 
it sometimes happened, that, by way of variety to the custom- 
ary torrent of invective, the king, after keeping the secretary 
for hours in his ante-chamber, would receive him only to turn, 


76 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


him rudely out of the room, without hearing a word of what 
he had to say. 

The royal treatment roused young Carl Maria’s indignation 
to the utmost; and his irritation led him one day to a mad 
prank, which was nigh resulting in some years’ imprisonment 
in the fortress of Hohenasberg, or of Hohenhaufen. Smarting 
under some foul indignity, he had just left the private apart- 
ment of the king, when an old woman met him in the passage, 
and asked where she could find the room of the court washer- 
woman. “There!” said the reckless youth, pointing to the 
door of the royal cabinet. The old woman entered; was 
violently assailed by the king, who had a horror of old women ; 
and, in her terror, stammered out that a young gentleman who 
had just come out had informed her that there she would find 
the “royal washerwoman.” The infuriated monarch guessed 
who was the culprit, and despatched an officer on the spot to 
arrest his brother’s secretary, and throw him into prison. 

To those who have any idea how foul a den was then a 
royal prison, it must appear almost marvellous that Carl Maria 
should have possessed sufficient equanimity to have occupied 
himself with his beloved art during his arrest. But so it was. 
He managed to procure a dilapidated old piano; put it in tune 
with consummate patience by means of a common door-key ; 
and actually, then and there, on the 14th October, 1808, com- 
posed his well-known beautiful song, “Ein steter Kampf ist 
unser Leben.” 

The storm passed over. Prince Ludwig’s influence obtained 
the young man’s pardon and release. But the insult was never 
forgotten by the king: he took care to remember it at its own 
right time. Nor had prison cured Carl Maria of his boyish 
desire to play tricks upon the hated monarch, when he con- 
ceived that he could do so without danger to himself. He 
contrived to insert adroitly into the letters which his duty 
called upon him to write from Duke Ludwig to his royal 
brother, and which the former was too careless to read, every 
expression which he knew would be likely to put the irritable 


SOCIAL LIFE IN STUTTGART. 1G 


monarch into a fearful passion. For a time, he succeeded 
admirably in his design. But Friedrich was too sharp a man 
not to divine the real author of these abominable letters; and 
many were the back-handed blows which the revengeful man 
was able to strike, in quiet malice, at the imprudent young 
secretary. 

But Carl Maria’s life in Stuttgart was not wholly so unpleas- 
ant and so uncongenial as it might seem. After many vain 
but honest endeavors to cleanse the Augean stable of finance 
in the ducal affairs, — endeavors which were only rewarded 
by the unfriendly rebuke, on the part of his patron, that “he 
had better not meddle with matters that did not concern him,” 
—he stuck to the strict letter of his service alone, and now 
gained time and opportunity for not only coquetting once more 
with his favorite Muse, but for winning himself new friends by 
the seductive charm of his manners, as well as by his talent. 
He found means to cultivate the acquaintance of many dis- 
tinguished personages and agreeable families in Stuttgart, to 
reckon many of the officers and artists among his stanch 
allies, and also to enjoy life after his fashion, in jovial gather- 
ings of good fellows, with his glass of wine and his guitar. 
The faculty for finding himself in his right place in every kind 
of society, and gathering from all around new food to add to 
his store of instruction, talent, or humor, was one of the most 
attractive qualities of Carl Maria’s nature. 

All outward progress of intelligence at this period of the 
history of Stuttgart, if not wholly suppressed, was at all events 
nullified by the tyrannical oppression of the government and 
the unhappy condition of the country. But in the family 
circles into which Carl Maria was introduced by Prince Lud- 
wig’s physician-in-ordinary, Dr. Kellin, the cultivation of the 
mind and the interests of Art were far from being wholly 
neglected. From his intercourse with literary and artistic 
celebrities he now began to derive fresh advantages. Among 
the former, he could enjoy the conversation of the brilliant, 
witty Haug, the editor of the still-flourishing paper, “Das 


78 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


Morgenblatt,” and of the clever, clear-thinking Reinbeck ; 
from both of whom he was so fortunate as to obtain the words 
of some of his brightest and sweetest compositions. Among 
the latter — and they were many in every branch of art —he 
had the privilege of sitting in the studio of the famous sculptor 
Dannecker, at that time already nearly fifty years of age, and 
of watching the progress of his celebrated Ariadne. About 
the same time, also, he made the passing acquaintance of Louis 
Spohr, even then one of Germany’s greatest violin-players and 
composers ; who, as has been already stated, judged the frag- 
ments of the boy’s “ Rubezahl” with little favor, but yet gave 
fresh animation to his aspirations and his hopes. 

It was the first time that Carl Maria had been permitted to 
enjoy an uninterrupted intercourse with men of such impor- 
tance and distinction in the fine arts and literature. He gazed 
up with as much surprise as admiration at this higher sphere 
of intellectual cultivation, in general so superior to that of the 
musical and theatrical worthies with whom his lot had as yet 
been cast. His ambition was awakened, and his aspirations 
to achieve the good and great gradually gushed forth in this 
world so new to him; although the channel in which they were 
to flow, in order to reach the desired end, was as yet but half 
revealed to him. He now began to turn a great portion of his 
leisure hours to account in the cultivation of his mind; and, 
with this intent, to improve his acquaintance with Court- 
Counsellor Lehr, the director of the royal library, —a modest, 
thoughtful, but amiable and genial man, from whose poetical 
effusions the young composer afterwards selected the words of 
two of his choicest songs. From Lehr he derived the most 
valuable hints for the improvement of his style, his habits of 
thought, and the direction of his critical and philosophical 
studies. Under the good librarian’s guidance, he read Kant, 
Wolff, and Schelling, with care ; and thus gained that precious 
faculty, so often half envied, half repudiated by his colleagues, 
of reasoning with logical clearness, and of giving correct 
expression to his thoughts. In this much Carl Maria’s sojourn 





WEBER’S YOUTHFUL FOLLIES. 79 
in Stuttgart was of the highest importance in the development 
of his better qualities, however much in other respects it may 
have exercised an influence altogether deleterious. 

His youthful blood, which had been first fevered in Vienna, 
and had mounted to boiling-point in Breslau, had not yet 
cooled down. The consequences of all his debts, his love- 
adventures, and his follies, may have grinned at him hideously 
sometimes, but had not yet scourged him to the quick, when 
he arrived in Stuttgart ; and the licentiousness, corruption, and 
laxity of honorable principle, which ran riot in that city, could 
only tend to crush, in the mind of an ardent, impressionable 
youth, all sense of duty, all moral discipline, all clear insight 
into the difference between right ignored and wrong permitted. 
The reserved and retiring life of family-circles was not of a 
nature wholly to content the impetuous young artist, especially 
with the example before him of all the young officers and 
court-gallants of his acquaintance, with whom drinking, toy- 
ing, gambling, money-lavishing, and debt-making were only 
evidences of bon ton, and in whom the high example of king 
and prince not only permitted, but even necessitated, the 
wildest excesses ; inasmuch as moral rectitude and steadiness 
would have been looked upon as indirect admonitions of the 
most suspicious and objectionable nature, launched against the 
rulers of the land. Carl Maria, then, was soon ingulfed in 
the whirlpool of such society. Jovial parties in the so-called 
“drink-rooms” of the palace, at the “King of England,” in 
the summer “wine-gardens” of Schwieberdingen or Kann- 
stadt, were the order of the day among the reckless crew, the 
leading band of which proudly bore the title of ‘ Faust’s Ride 
to Hell.” 

Among these choice spirits was one, who, both as man and 
artist, was destined to come into nearer connection with Carl 
Maria. This was Franz Carl Hiemer, a young author. His 
experiences of life had been considerable. He had been, by 
turns, officer and actor; and his knowledge of the stage, com- 
bined with some degree of talent and a lively turn of mind, 


80 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


had led him to write dramatic pieces, more generally adapted 
from the French With his joyous nature and his open heart, 
he was sure to please the open-hearted, joyous Carl Maria, 
although by nine years his senior. Without any great judg- 
ment for the poetical worth of an operatic drama,—a defi- 
ciency, which, even in the maturity of his genius, still remained 
in him, — the young musician saw in Hiemer the man to pro- 
vide him with a libretto which might inspire him to fresh 
operatic composition. He gave into Hiemer’s hands the old 
book of the dumb forest-girl, who recovers her speech through 
the influence of love, by the Chevalier Steinsberg. It was 
originally only an indifferent affair; but out of this stuff the 
author set to work to produce a new opera-book. Although 
not devoid of exciting and effective situations, Hiemer’s new 
production turned out weak in invention of detail, poor in 
dialogue, nonsensical in the comic portion, and crude in versi- 
fication ; altogether a glorious specimen of a thoroughly 
unartistic romantic German opera-book. Strange to say, 
Weber was quite enamoured of this literary abortion, and felt 
himself inspired by the subject. By the middle of the year 
1808 he had already completed several pieces of the opera, 
which was now to bear the title of “ Sylvana.” The composi- 
tion did not progress very rapidly, however. The wild flood 
of the reckless existence into which he had plunged bore him 
hither and thither in its course. The evenings were few, 
when, after the more reputable intercourse with society in the 
pleasant court-circle of the duchess, in private families, and 
among graver artists, he was not led to “ finish off” with the 
gallant roysterers of “ Faust’s Ride to Hell;” fewer still when 
the excitable youth could snatch any quiet hours of meditation, 
and repose of mind. From time to time, the irrepressible love 
of his art, and the strong yearning for its exercise, drew him, 
spite of all other allurements, to his piano; but, although the 
voice of his own genius could not be wholly stilled, it was 
seldom heeded. From his friend Hiemer, too, —a lazy, care- 
less fellow, who led a life even more dissolute than his own, — 


bie: 


FRANZ DANZI. 81 


ne was unable to drag out fresh pages of manuscript without 
the greatest difficulty, and after repeated humorous letters of 
entreaty; and thus it was that “Sylvana,” first taken in 
hand in November, 1807, was never completed until the month 
of February, 1810. 

It must not be supposed, however, that Carl Maria’s artistic 
development was lying fallow during this period of his Stutt- 
gart life. A tiller of the ground there was, who perhaps did 
more for the future harvest of genius than any other man, into 
whose influential care the culture of the youth’s talent was 
destined to fall, — not even excepting Vogler. He was not one 
of the great pioneers of Art; but he was a man to awaken 
creative genius, to point out the true path it should run, and, 
by his own example of unwearied activity, to urge it on to that 
greatness which it was not his own to attain. This individual 
was Franz Danzi, who, a few months after Weber’s arrival in 
Stuttgart, had been appointed conductor of the Royal Opera. 

Danzi had been attached to the opera at Munich at the 
time of Franz Anton’s residence there with his boy Carl 
Maria. But no acquaintance with this genial musician, who 
was considerably overshadowed then by Peter Winter, had 
been made at that period. But Danzi had not been long in 
Stuttgart when his sharp and unerring judgment saw the great 
promise in the youth; and he sought his friendship and his 
confidence. Although Danzi was at least three and twenty 
years the senior of the young composer, the middle-aged man 
soon captivated the youth by his kindliness of heart and un- 
affected interest. A reciprocal admiration and affection en- 
sued; and Danzi was soon zealously employed in eager efforts 
to give a right direction to Carl Maria’s genius. “To bea 
true artist, you must be a true man,” was one of his great 
maxims. His affectionate counsel was of the greatest impor- 
tance to the youth, not only in his musical tendencies, but in 
all relations with the world outside the sphere of Art. He was 
resolved that his young friend should be as a musician great, 
but great, too, as a man. 

6 


82 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


As a musician, Danzi left ineffaceable traces upon Weber’s 
style. He was a thorough and pure disciple of the school of 
Manheim, where he had been born, and where he had first 
prosecuted his musical studies. The especial tendency of this’ 
school was to establish the importance of “song” and rhythm 
in instrumentalism ; and it is undeniable that Carl Maria dated 
from the period of his intimate intercourse with Danzi that 
important change in the style of his orchestral compositions 
which gave such prominence in them to that rich flood of 
“song and rhythm” so conspicuous in his later works of 
genius, and hitherto so unknown to him. But the influence 
of Danzi as a musician, great as it was, was even subordinate 
to that which he exercised in all the more important matters 
of life as a man. It is not too much to say that he was the 
good angel of the youth at this important period of his life. 
With firm though mild and gentle hand he seized the reins 
of friendship, and exerted all his directing powers to stem 
that wild career in which Carl Maria’s genius, if not utterly 
lost, might have acquired that stamp of recklessness and dis- 
order which never might have been effaced. He brought to 
bear all- the natural influence of the mature man over the still 
undeveloped character of youth to complete that cultivation 
of the mind for which Carl Maria was then evidencing true 
aspirations, although uncertain and fitful in their character. 
But Danzi was no pedant, and no cross-grained marrer of 
youthful pleasure. The little plump man, with his round head, 
and sharp, clever, good-tempered eyes, might be seen on many 
a joyous country excursion in the environs of Stuttgart, hand 
in hand with the liveliest of the youth of ‘the time; although 
he may have shaken that round head of his gravely at the 
stories of wild nights passed in pot-housing and uproar. 

To Danzi, Carl Maria addressed many of those humorous 
epistles in verse for which he became so famous, and with 
which, even in his days of bodily suffering and mental anguish, 
he was always wont to delight his laughing friends. Some of 
these are still extant, set to music with rare geniality and 








PRINCE ADAM OF WURTEMBERG. 83 


numor, and signed “ Krautsalat,” the nickname Carl Maria had 
adopted in the band of “ Faust’s Ride to Hell.” 

But, during this life in Stuttgart, a change had come in Carl 
Maria’s position in the ducal household. Faber, the comptrol- 
ler and bailiff of the prince, had returned from his post in the 
commissariat of the army, to be re-instated in his former situa- 
tion; and the young secretary had found himself freed from 
many of his onerous duties. Long before this event, his un- 
common musical talent had found opportunity for appreciation ; 
and his court-life forthwith received a more artistic coloring by 
his being appointed musical instructor to the children of the 
duke. Spite his own personal antipathy to his secretary, 
Prince Ludwig had still sense and impartiality enough to rec- 
ognize the zeal evinced by the young man in the exercise of 
his painful mission, and in his endeavors to bring some light 
into the financial chaos of the house, as well as his general 
amiability and gentlemanly bearing. Without dismissing him 
from his position as private secretary, therefore, he gladly oc- 

ecupied him with the musical supervision of the family. To 
this new position of the young composer are probably owing 
not only the “Six pieces & quatre mains,” dedicated to the 
Princess Ludwig, but many others of his brilliant instrumental 
works belonging to this period. With the young, amiable 
princesses, since Queen of Wiirtemberg and Margravine of 
Baden, the difficulties of the instructor’s duties were only such 
as are usual with small children. With the young, athletic, 
_ broad-shouldered, noisy stripling, Prince Adam, his task was a 
far harder one. Yet the boy, whose chief delight it was to 
make game of all around him, and play off the most disagree- 
able practical jokes, seems to have looked upon his young mas- 
ter with especial favor, and, beyond boxing the ears of the 
servants during his music-lessons, —a mere unregarded trifle 
in those days, — was generally “on his best behavior” in Carl 
Maria’s company. He was so fond of making music with the 
young artist, that he would frequently send over instruments, 
wax-candles, supper, plates and dishes, and, above all, a whole 


84 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


regiment of bottles of wine, into Weber’s small apartment in 
the palace, and then come and play with him for hours to- 
gether, either alone, or accompanied by a few of his courtier 
friends. But these evenings, although commenced with all 
devotion to Art, were not unwont to degenerate into veritable 
drinking-bouts. The young prince, on these occasions, when 
full of generous wine, had the habit of giving away costly pres- 
ents, and making brilliant promises, of which he had no re- 
membrance the next morning; and this vinous liberality was 
not unfrequently the cause of unseemly altercations between 
the prince and his friends, who invariably took care to remind 
him of his bounties. It was to Carl Maria’s tact and adroit- 
ness that the task then always fell to reconcile all these princely 
differences. 

What with the time: bestowed on the functions of his office, 
his life at court, his life with the choice spirits of “ Faust’s Ride 
to Hell,” and his own personal adventures on the field of love 
and beauty, it cannot be supposed that much progress was 
made during this period by the young composer in his true ® 
career. There is no doubt that he fostered the ambition to see 
his new opera of “ Sylvana” represented at the Royal Theatre 
of Stuttgart. But here, again, hinderances arose to militate 
against any free and unfettered development of his own genius 
in his new work, by the very care he took to suit exactly the 
personal qualities of the company, when brought into more 
frequent and intimate connection with the various artists em- 
ployed in the theatre ; for, into this sphere, Danzi, by virtue of 
his position, had introduced him, in the hopes of throwing oil 
upon the flame, and encouraging him still further to the work 
of composition. 





CHAPTER VII. 


LIFE IN STUTTGART. 


Kine Friepricn took great delight in his theatre. He 
had an especial fondness for~ggrgeousness of representation ; 
and he had even dazzled Napoleons by a splendid per- 
formance of “ Don Juan.” ‘The royal establishment was very 
richly endowed ; and considerable care and expense were be- 
stowed upon the ballet, in which the pristine spirit of the 
celebrated Noverre still lived. The Royal Academy, founded 
by Duke Carl, was carried on with satisfactory results, and 
continued to produce a series of musicians, comedians, singers, 
and dancers; and thus, in 1808, Stuttgart may be said to have 
possessed an admirable theatre. In the choice of actors as 
well as actresses, it is true, too much consideration was given 
to personal beauty; but the general effect upon the stage, as 
far as regarded the mere delectation of the eyes, was doubtless 
considerably enhanced thereby. Operatic and dramatic per- 
formances took place alternately four times in the week in 
Stuttgart, and ence at Ludwigsburg, when the court resided at 
the latter place. The court was very seldom absent upon 
these occasions; but all the more favor was shown by royalty: 
to the stage, all the more indifference to it the public seemed 
resolved to exhibit. The general direction of the establish- 
ment was in the hands of the well-intentioned minister, Count 


Winzingerode; whilst the immediate manager was Chamber- 
° 8&6 


86 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


lain von Roder; and the conductorship of the orchestra was 
confided to Carl Maria’s friend, Danzi. Introduced by the lat- 
ter upon the stage, Weber became a more and more frequent 
visitor behind the scenes, gradually made acquaintance with 
the various members of the company, and began to associate 
intimately with them in private life. Thus it came, that, in 
his desire to secure a successful rather than a perfect repre- 
sentation of his new opera, the young composer began to con- 
sider more and more the personal specialities of the troop, and 
their desires to produce individual effect, rather than the 
promptings of his own genius. When “ Sylvana ” was finished, 
its original design was gone; and it had assumed a wholly dif- 
ferent physiognomy, more in conformity, perhaps, with the par- 
ticular fancies of the singers, but decidedly not to its own 
advantage. Now it was the imperishable old tenor, Krebs, — 
an excellent musician, by the way,— who had his “ finger in 
the pie;” now the sweet-voiced second tenor, Deckers; now 
Fischer, the bass, whose talent required a good acting part; 
now the lively buffo-basso, Weberling, whose original drollery 
was to have full scope; now Madame Graff, the “ cantatrice & 
roulades,” whose speciality was to be shown off to advantage; 
now, again, pretty Madame Gollin, who had an extraordinary 
talent for pantomime action; and now, more especially, that 
charming, winning, coquettish little serpent, Margarethe Lang, 
who was to be the mocking, fluttering will-o’-the-wisp, to daz- 
zle the foolish boy during his Stuttgart life. 

A pretty hodge-podge had librettist, composer, and artists 
cooked up between them. The opera commences with one of 
those huntsmen’s choruses in which Weber took delight. 
Count Rudolph von Helfenstein is bear-hunting with his squire 
Krips, who has a comic air in the introduction. This low- 
comedy part had, of course, to be written up for the favorite 
buffo, Weberling; and it must be confessed, that the musical 
drollery of this character is by far the best creation of the 
whole opera, greatly surpassing in geniality and humorous. in- 
vention all the musical brightness of Aennchen in“ Der 


vA: 


PLOT OF SYLVANA. 87 


Freischiitz,” Scherasmin in “ Oberon,” or even “Abu Hassan ” 
himself. The romantic young count —to be represented, of 
course, by the everlasting old tenor, Krebs — expresses his feel- 
ings in a long sentimental air. It would be evidently a mis- 
take to give much credit to his passion for bear-hunting. In 
truth, he has seen in the forest, and been desperately smitten 
with, a beautiful wild girl, who cannot speak, and is, in conse- 
quence, very naturally supposed to be dumb. The inflammable 
young gentleman is not very easy in his mind about this sud- 
den attachment, however; as he happens to be betrothed to 
the daughter of a Count Adethardt, who is not a man to be 
trifled with in these matters: moreover, he does not care for 
the young lady one straw; whereas the wild girl plays havoe 
with his heart. What is he to do in this dilemma? He dis- 
sembles, and sings a pretty little drinking-song to his hunts- 
men to relieve his mind. But the wild girl comes bounding 
across his path. It is too much for him. He carries her off 
to end his doubts—and the act. It is scarcely necessary to 
add, that the part of Sylvana, the dumb girl, who afterwards is 
not dumb, had to be worked up to meet the special require- 
ments of Madame Gollin, the lady who did pantomime parts so 
beautifully. é 

Now, if Rudolph is not very lovingly disposed towards his 
destined bride, the young lady herself is not a whit behind- 
hand with him. At the very commencement of the second 
act, Mademoiselle Mechthilde informs her gruff papa, Count 
Adelhardt, in a poor noisy duet with him, that she has no lik- 
ing for her intended husband, although the parent’s “ flinty 
heart” insists upon her marrying him without delay. The 
fact is, that the perverse young lady, as she takes care to in- 
form her audience, as soon as she has got rid of papa, in some 
recitative, followed by a brilliant air, has chosen to fall in love 
with one Albert von Kleeberg, who, as is naturally the case, — 
in opera-books, — is the son of her father’s bitterest enemy. It 
cannot be said that Count Adelhardt, obstinate as he may be, 
is altogether in the wrong. Kleeberg senior, Albert’s progeni- 


88 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


tor, had stormed his castle, it would appear, many years be- 
fore, in revenge for being worsted in a love-affair, and carried 
off, and, it is generally supposed, murdered another daughter, 
then a baby in the cradle. At this little bit of explanation 
the audience begin to “smell a rat; ” and the interest becomes 
more palpitating. Now, in the character of Mechthilde, the 
composer had to deal with more than one perversity; for it 
was the lively, coquettish, animated Margarethe Lang who in- 
sisted on playing this serious romantic part, which was entirely 
out of her “ line of business,” and on being provided with the 
most sentimental and pathetic music. 

In the midst of the general cross-purposes, Albert — the 
second tenor, of course — contrives to sneak into the castle with 
his friend Kurt, and to meet perverse Mademoiselle Mech- 
thilde, who, in turn, is so fortunate as to have her attendant 
Clara with her. The situation is consequently highly favora- 
ble for a very charming love-quartet between these person- 
ages. Sylvana, meanwhile, has been very imprudently brought 
by the enamoured but evidently bewildered Rudolph into the 
very last place where she ought to be, — the castle of her rival’s 
father. This little error in judgment, however, affords an ex- 
cellent opportunity for a charming display of pantomimic de- 
lineation from the wild damsel, who is astounded at the won- 
ders around her; and, seeing a looking-glass for the first time, 
dances before it in delight. It has thereby also afforded the 
composer an occasion for some of the most graceful and capti- 
vating music of the whole production. ; 

As nobody chooses to speak out, the festivities previous to 
the marriage-ceremony go on. It is certainly very well that 
they do; for without them the opera would be deprived of its 
brightest pearl,—a wonderfully characteristic and animated 
drinking-song, sung by Krips; a great master-piece of its kind, 
in which the very smack of the lips and luxurious suction of the 
drinker are heard, without any detriment to the artistic beauty 
and grace of the music. Besides, composer, scenic artist, and 
“ property-man,” have all opportunities for any amount of dis- 


PROGRESS OF THE PLOT. 89 


play in a great tournament, given on the occasion of the nup- 
tials, at which Albert von Kleeberg, as the inevitable unknown 
knight, carries off all the prizes, is discovered, nearly loses his 
life at the hands of blustering old Count Adelhardt, and is 
fortunately only ignominiously kicked out of the castle, —a 
mitigation of penalties, of which he ungenerously complains in 
a great air, accompanied by a chorus of his vassals, in the 
midst of a most uncomfortable and wholly unnecessary thunder- 
storm. 

Count Adelhardt, meanwhile, has made the awkward dis- 
covery that a pretty girl is concealed in the apartment of his 
daughter's intended. To cut the Gordian knot of this compro- 
mising affair, he can think of nothing handier than killing the 
young person out of hand. He is about to undertake this little 
business with his own dagger, when one of those unaccounta- 
ble feelings so common in melodramas first arrests him in his 
purpose. Rudolph and Mechthilde then come to sue for 
mercy ; and finally Master Albert is led in captured, bringing 
with him very opportunely in his train an old hermit named 
Ullrich, who declares that Sylvana is the count’s own daugh- 
ter, confided to him by the hostile ravisher, and brought up by 
him under the express but somewhat incomprehensible condi- 
tion, that she should never learn the use of her tongue. From 
this time, however, the ill-used young female, having discovered 
that she has such an organ, forthwith takes care to make use 
of it. The two pairs of lovers are then and there made happy ; 
and the wearying long scene of explanation is fortunately 
relieved by a torch-dance and chorus, in which all the magic 
of the young composer’s genius is displayed in that wonderful 
flow of melody, and charm of instrumental treatment, which 
gave such unwonted fire and brilliancy to his later works. 

In the very inequalities of its style, the opera of “ Sylvana” 
possesses a very considerable degree of interest. A very dis- 
tinct and rapid progress in the young composer’s art is obser- 
vable throughout the gradual composition of the work. It 
culminates in the last and best-written pieces, —the drinking- 


90 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS, 


song of Krips, the final chorus, the torch-dance, and, above 
all, the exquisite overture, which already exhibits all his char- 
acteristic melodiousness of ideas; although, in the form of its 
harmonies and its instrumentation, it may still incline to the 
taste of the older masters, and reveal more especially the en- 
during influence of Vogler. 

To the same period of Weber’s artistic development belongs 
another work, the composition of which is contemporaneous 
with his commencement of “ Sylvana.” The subject was sup- 
plied by a poetical fantasy from the pen of Rochlitz. This 
poem, which was descriptive of the birth of expression by 
musical sound in the world, and which was in many respects 
highly adapted to musical treatment, was used by Weber for a 
species of cantata, at that time almost unknown, called “ Der 
Erste Ton.” In some parts the words of the poem were to be 
declaimed to accompanying melo-dramatic music; in others, to 
be sung; in others, again, musical descriptions of the growth 
of tones were made to figure forth in the orchestra. The whole 
composition is a most successful one, as well in the color given 
to the varying feelings and situations, as in the musical pic- 
tures, which never degenerate into childish imitations of the 
well-known sounds of Nature. The modulations are admira- 
ble; the musical transitions, even when startling, are artfully 
combined to heighten the effect; and a eharacter of dignity 
and nobleness pervades the whole. The final strophe, where 
the world exults in the creation of musical sound, composed for 
full chorus, is sublime in its effect. This small but admirable 
work, which was produced at various periods of Weber’s 
career in all the great cities of Germany, generally with the 
greatest applause, and which contributed more than any other 
composition to the establishment of his fame as an artist, has 
now, strange to say, vanished wholly from the repertory of the 
musical world. 

At the time when Danzi took Carl Maria by the hand to 
draw him more closely to the stage, the youth had already 
begun to feel the sickness of surfeit in his wild career; and 





GRETCHEN LANG. 91 


although the theatre, during the period of the poisoning mias- 
ma of King Friedrich’s court, cannot be said to have been 
otherwise than tainted, like the whole whirling mass of Stutt- 
gart society, by the hideous corruption of the times, yet he 
might have found in its artistic influences a standing-ground, 
on which his love of Art might have taken healthy root. Un- 
fortunately, the inflammable Carl Maria conceived an ardent 
affection for the singer Margarethe Lang, or “ Gretchen” Lang 
as she always signed herself. To stem such a passion, or even 
to have given it a legal form, would have been merely ridicu- 
lous and absurd in the eyes of the demoralized circle by which 
he was surrounded. Gretchen possessed a little plump, seduc- 
tive form, was about twenty years of age, and, in addition to 
her undoubted musical talent, was endowed with a fund of gay, 
sprightly humor, wholly in sympathy with the youth’s own joy- 
ous nature. She became the central point of all his life and 
aspirations. ‘There is no evidence extant to show to what 
degree of intimacy this union of the two young fiery artist- 
natures was carried. It is certain, however, that, from the 
time Carl Maria made Gretchen Lang’s acquaintance, he sel- 
dom quitted her side. The family-circles, where he had been 
so pleasantly received, were now wholly neglected; the jovial 
crew of “ Faust’s Ride to Hell” clinked glasses with him sel- 
dom; his scanty service, even, as private secretary of Duke 
Ludwig, and musical instructor of his children, was reduced to 
such grudging limits, that he not only drew down upon himself 
the displeasure of the prince, but even excited the attention 
and remark of his enemy, the king. Nor did he even profit in 
his circumstances by his separation from his crew of roystering 
friends. Gretchen Lang’s seductions dragged him into a mael- 
strom of expense no less dangerous than the other. Among 
his new theatrical friends, money flew from his hand like chaff 
before the wind. Country excursions were constantly being 
made in grand style, and regardless of all cost ; and, on such 
occasions as the birthdays of any of the principal members of 
the theatrical party, festivities were organized in the same reck- 
less manner. 


92 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


These festive entertainments frequently consisted of burlesque 
dramatic representations, generally of a witty and humorous 
nature, for which Hiemer wrote the words, and Carl Maria 
composed the incidental music. One of the smartest effects 
of these little facetia was produced by a travestie invented by 
Weber, and since so frequently misused, wherein the men 
played the women’s characters, and the women the men’s. 
That persons of a more serious turn of mind, such as Lehr and 
Danzi, also took part in these grotesque representations, is 
shown by an extant letter, full of quaint humor, from Gretchen 
Lang to Weber, summoning him to a rehearsal of a new ex- 
travaganza called “ Mark Antony,” which was to be given in 
honor of the féte of the tenor Krebs. The “cast” of this 
piece of absurdity included Carl Maria as Cleopatra, Hiemer 
as Octavia, Danzi as Cleopatra’s nurse, Lehr as the Asp, 
Madame Miedke the singer as Octavius, and smart little _ 
Mademoiselle Gretchen herself as Antony. 

The various circumstances of the private life of the indi- 
vidual representatives in these extravagant productions natu- 
rally afforded a rich harvest of jocose allusions; for which 
ample occasion was given by the love-affairs of the ladies, and 
the mad pranks or impecuniosity of the gentlemen. One of 
these satirical subjects, in which the heavy debts of some of 
the young spendthrifs were made the matter of many a jest, 
and which was written in loose verse and still looser strain by 
Hiemer, afterwards furnished the groundwork for Weber’s 
charming little opera of “ Abu Hassan.” Carl Maria himself 
used to acknowledge, with a laugh, how just were the hard hits 
dealt at him in this little burlesque drama. The state of his 
finances, indeed, became more desperate from day to day; and 
his light-heartedness under the burden can only be accounted 
for by his constant intercourse with people to whom running 
into debt was as necessary a portion of their daily life as eat- 
ing, drinking, or sleeping. As the only one among his new 
associates of the theatre who held the high position in society 
accorded to a private secretary of the brother of the sovereign, 


YOUTHFUL EXTRAVAGANCE. 93 


he very naturally fell into one of those abnormal conditions 
which marked his life in Stuttgart, — the tendency to play the 
fine gentleman. This misplaced ambition led him to extrava- 
gances dangerous in themselves to his weakly physical consti- 
tution. He held himself riding-horses and a groom, in order 
to accompany the carriage of the ladies on their numerous pic- 
nic-parties as an accomplished cavalier. Great as was his 
horror of accounts, he was always expected, as the most promi- 
nent of the company in position, spirit, and activity, to look 
after the settlement of expenses in all these parties of pleasure ; 
and, as a remembrance of such obligations was not one of the 
characteristics of his careless associates, his losses were consid- 
erable. He soon became enveloped in a net of liabilities, from 
which he found it impossible to release himself. It was hope- 
less for him to look for help from his patrons. The Duke 
Ludwig was comparatively in a still worse state of pecuniary 
embarrassment than himself. The king had a horror of his 
brother’s private secretary. His very position at court was of 
a nature to call for sacrifices, which in themselves far exceeded 
his fixed salary. The constant changes of the court from 
Stuttgart to Ludwigsburg, from Ludwigsburg to Stuttgart, 
were an unceasing drain upon his purse, for which he never 
received compensation. The journeys hither and thither con- 
tinually undertaken by the duke and duchess, in which he was 
always expected to accompany them, caused heavy disburse- 
ments, the promised repayment of which was invariably for- 
gotten or withheld. The receipts from the sale of his compo- 
sitions were but mere drops of water upon burning sand; and 
the hope of a rich remuneration from his “ Sylvana,” the pro- 
duction of which, under the circumstances, was far from likely 
to be speedy, was the only bright spot in the vista to throw 
any light upon the dark chaos of debt and distress around 
him. 

The financial embarrassment of Carl Maria’s affairs received 
a heavy blow—a coup de grace it may be called — by the 
wholly unexpected arrival of his father in Stuttgart in the 


94 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


month of April, 1809. Without a word of notice, Franz An 
ton had left Carlsruhe, where he had been comfortably pro- 
vided for; had packed himself into a diligence with his bass- 
viol, and two enormous basket-beds for his two dearly-beloved 
poodles ; and had fallen, like a chimney-pot in a storm, on his 
son’s head. Beyond these precious objects and the poodle- 
dogs themselves, he brought nothing to his bewildered son but 
a load of debts, among which were several debts of honor. 
Fresh anxieties thus came upon Carl Maria. The old man 
had suffered from a bad nervous fever the previous winter. In 
personal appearance, and in bombastic, off-hand manner, there 
was no great change in him. But, little by little, the afflicted 
son discovered, to his bitter cost, what ravages had been made 
by disease in the powers of memory, judgment, and observa- 
tion, in the wretched old man, who had been once so richly en- 
dowed by nature. Franz Anton installed himself as a matter 
of course in his son’s small apartment, hung up the basket-beds 
of his canine favorites in the one bedroom which he and his 
poodles were now to share, and made himself at home. Poor 
Carl Maria was driven to the verge of despair. Not only were 
his own fine feelings and his delicate nervous susceptibilities to 
disagreeable sounds and bad smells outraged every moment by 
those detestable spoiled brutes of dogs, but he gradually found 
how detrimental were the manners and behavior of the cranky 
and arrogant old gentleman to all his relations in life. All 
social intercourse in his own apartment soon beeame impossi- 
ble; the little concert-parties of Prince Adam were obliged to - 
‘be relinquished; pleasant evenings with joyous friends were 
known no more in his room. 

But the annoyances oceasioned to Carl Maria by the injury 
to his standing in Stuttgart, continually inflicted by the misbe- 
haviors of the tiresome old gentleman, were far from being the 
worst: much more distressing and prejudicial were the con- 
sequences of the foolish father’s perpetual interference in all 
the doings and dealings of his son, whom he persisted in fan- 
cying as much a boy as when he was Michel Haydn’s scholar 


FINANCIAL EMBARRASSMENTS. 95 


With some such a bewildered notion as this, Franz Anton sent 
off Carl Maria’s lately-composed cantata, “ The First Tone,” 
without the young composer’s knowledge, to Rochlitz, the 
author of the words, who then possessed a great reputation as 
critic in Leipsic, with a letter containing the drollest mixture 
of arrogance, affected humility, bombast, and flattery, and 
signed “ Baron von Weber, chamberlain to his Imperial Ma- 
jesty.” It was a letter that would have driven the poor son 
half mad with indignation, had it not wrung his heart to see 
such bitter evidence of the utter intellectual decay of the wri- 
ter. He was almost blessed in his ignorance of what was pass- 
ing. When Rochlitz was kind enough to answer this absurd. 
effusion, another letter, almost still more fulsome than the for- 
mer, to entreat the author’s kind assistance for the production 
of the cantata, was despatched by the demented old gentle- 
man, who still persisted in signing his imaginary title of cham- 
berlain, with the same mixture of fatuity and vanity which had 
induced his adoption of that of major. 

Undeniable as was the daily increasing disorder of Carl 
Maria’s finances, it was still more evident that the fortunes of 
his patron, Prince Ludwig, were sinking with tenfold celerity 


into an abyss of utter ruin. The duke’s income, large as it 


was, did not suffice to meet one-half of his lavish expenditure. 
In vain he demeaned himself to crouch before the miserable 
favorite Dillen, in order to secure his interest with the king. 
Friedrich, who had with difficulty been induced to pay a ‘debt 


~ still heavier than ever for his brother, after an unusually wild 


explosion of rage, had sworn, with the bitterest curses, that the 
prince and all who trusted him might go to— anywhere; that 
he would pack off the incorrigible spendthrift to a small garri- 
son town, but that he would never pay another florin. And 


King Friedrich was a man to keep his word. But neither the 


threats of the king, the bitter tears and entreaties of the duch- 
ess, or the lamentations of his weary creditors, could induce the 
reckless prince to change his mode of life. Purveyors and 
servants remained unpaid. They murmured loudly, and 


96 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


threatened to lay their complaints before the king. But the 
duke well knew how shy they would be of taking such a step 
before a judge whose habit it was to visit the plaintiff with as 
much wrath as the defendant. It was soon rumored, however, 
how deeply the prince had fallen under his brother’s displeas- 
ure: loans became more and more difficult; nay, impossible. 
Tt was evident that matters could not remain thus. 

Tnder these circumstances, Carl Maria’s tact, zeal, and 
charm of manner, rendered incalculable service to the prince. 
He hunted out fresh capitalists, and by his gay, witty, half- 
bantering representations, almost persuaded them that lending 
was one of the delights of life, and the not being paid the 
greatest of honors. No one could be more seductive with that 
winning tongue; but no one, it must be said for him. in his 
ardent flow of language, could have meant more honorably, or 
have been more sincere in promises. He himself addressed to 
the duke the most touching letters of entreaty and sage advice, 
calling upon him to control his expenses, put his household in 
order, organize a sinking fund, and live in a manner worthy of 
his rank and family. It seems almost ridiculous to see this 
youth, himself so deeply involved in embarrassments, preach- 
ing prudence and economy to his more than middle-aged pa- 
tron, — like a child dressed in his grandfather’s clothes, exhort- 
ing his naughty elder brother: but the letters were no less 
composed in a true, sensible, and practical spirit; and they 
flowed as evidently from the depths of his own warm heart. 
Neither Carl Maria’s active assistance nor respectful expostu- 
lations, however, could check the precipitous course of the 
duke upon his road to ruin. The means to which he had re- 
course to obtain money became more and more desperate. 
Public opinion, although it seldom dared to raise its voice in 
Wiirtemberg, soon began to accuse the duke of a great and 
crying abuse of his privileges as a prince of the royal house. 
It was in this wise :— 

The battles of Wagram, Linz, and Eckmihl, had decimated 
the Wiirtemberg army. But all the more determined was 


EVASION OF THE LAW OF CONSCRIPTION. 97 


King Friedrich to carry out, to their most frightful extent, the 
existing laws regarding the conscription, and the obligations 
of military service. From these laws, as has been before re- 
marked, no persons, whatever their rank, were exempt, unless 
in some degree attached to the service of the king, or that of 
a member of the royal family. It naturally followed, there- 
fore, that such a choice article as a post in a royal household 
was in great request for the sons of noble and wealthy families ; 
and the more fearful the requirements of the war, the greater 
were the sacrifices people were disposed to make in order to 
secure so coveted a safety-plank from the general shipwreck. 
Where men were ready enough to pay largely for such an 
advantage, it may naturally be supposed, in the utterly corrupt 
state of society in Wiurtemberg at the time, that men were 
only too ready to clutch the offered gold as pilots to such a 
haven on the stormy sea of court-life. False steersmen, also, 
were not unfrequently to be found, who sold their services, 
under the pretence of obtaining a court appointment for young 
men of mark, at an enormous price, and then laughed at their 
willing dupes. It was of this detestable traflic that Prince 
Ludwig was openly accused. The public could not but see 
that the ducal household was augmented in the most surpris- 
ing manner by a herd of young noblemen, who accepted the 
very lowest positions in service, without performing any func- 
tion in reality. Whether the accusation were true or false, — 
a matter which there is no extant evidence to determine, — 
the mere suspicion was prejudicial in every respect, not only 
to the duke, but to all those about his person. The king too, 
from whom all these manceuvres were, as far as possible, kept 
dark, began to view with mistrust this constant withdrawal of 
so many of the sons of his nobility —which, by the way, he 
hated bitterly — from military service. He took a stern reso- 
lution to let any one, whom he might catch tripping in fla: | 
grante delicto, feel the whole weight of his wrathful royal hand. 
The unhappy wight on whom the royal thunderbolt was first 
to fall was poor Car] Maria. 
7 


58 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


There can be no doubt that the young man must have had 
cognizance of the vile system of barter and sale practised as 
“a new way to pay old debts.” But the very state of his dis- 
ordered finances is a proof that he never could himself have 
used the golden bucket at this full fountain of bribery, as 
would have been easy for him to do in his position. It is 
evident, however, that his delicate apprehension of right and 
wrong must have been completely blunted by perpetual con- 
tact with the general depravity which had, as always, been 
generated from tyranny and oppression, as the plague from 
rottenness and corruption. Otherwise, would he have re- 
ceived, acknowledged, administered sums of money, the ques- 
tionable origin of which he must have known, without imme- 
diately quitting a service at once so compromising and degrad- 
ing? 

It was impossible, however, thus to play with fire without a 
burn. A fearful explosion came. It was about the end of the 
year 1809 when Carl Maria discovered, to his terror and dis- 
may, that his father had misappropriated certain sums, which, 
as secretary, he had received from the duke for the payment 
of some obligations on the family estates in Silesia. The old 
gentleman, now weak in intellect, without any idea of the ter- 
rible responsibility entailed upon his son, and, it may be hoped, 
in utter forgetfulness of the destination of the money, had sent 
the whole sum off to Carlsruhe for the payment of the heaviest 
of the debts which he had there left behind him. In this dis- 
tressing dilemma, Carl Maria besought the landlord of the inn 
at Schwieberdingen, at whose house many a jovial party had 
taken place, one Honer, to lend him the sum of a thousand 
florins in order to cover this cruel deficit. He was refused. 
The duke had speedily discovered that the money intrusted to 
his young secretary had never reached its destination. Carl 
Maria at once confessed with openness the whole state of 
affairs to his patron, and promised that speedy reparation 

should be made. 

At this critical juncture, a certain Huber, a fellow who had 


a 


i i i i i i i i 


ree pase 


oh eal 


WEBER’S SECOND IMPRISONMENT. 99 


been formerly in Carl Maria’s immediate service as groom, and 
had since become a court-lackey in the duke’s household, came 
to the distractéd youth, and offered to procure him from 
Honer the loan of the thousand florins, before declined, upon the 
understanding that he himself should receive a small “ consid- 
eration.” Carl Maria accepted with delight, received the 
required sum, signed an acknowledgment to Honer, and 
recompensed the intermediary with a few louis d’or, without 
ever asking by what magic the money had been obtained. 
The deficit in the accounts with the duke was duly repaid, 
and the affair was supposed to have an end. 

Not so. Master Huber was a thorouzh rascal, who, for the 
aforesaid small “consideration,” had deluded the inn-keeper 
out of his money, under the representation, that, in return-for 
the loan, the influential young Secretary Weber would under- 
take to obtain a nominal post at court for his son, and thus free 
the boy from the terrors of the conscription. But when 
months went by,—the bill had long since become due, — no 
post had been bestowed upon his son, and the boy, in January, 
1810, had been drafted into the army, Honer became awfully 
indignant, and openly denounced the whole affair. The mat- 
ter came before the king, who now had an opportunity, not 
only of making an example of one of these traffickers in ap- 
pointments, who robbed him of so many sturdy soldiers, but of 
trouncing severely that “ forward young puppy of a secretary,” 
who was so utterly obnoxious to him. The alleged culprit, 
meanwhile, was ignorant of all. 

A few weeks before this discovery, “Sylvana” had been 
finished. Danzi had obtained: the permission of Count Win- 
zingerode, the director, to prepare the young composer’s opera 
for immediate representation; and Carl Maria was daily, for 
many hours at a time, in the theatre, making arrangements for 
the long-desired performance and the impending rehearsals. He 
was thus employed on the evening of the 9th of February, 1810, 
when suddenly the orchestra was invaded by a body of gen- 
darmes, who arrested the terrified Weber in the name of the 


100 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


king, and, without even leaving him time to say a few last 
words to Danzi, dragged him off to prison. His father, he 
learned, was under arrest in his own apartment. 

Then followed sixteen days and nights of the bitterest sor- 
row the young man had ever known. He had many follies to 
repent, and could not complain that the dangerous roses he 
had gathered had brought with them their due crop of thorns. 
But his worst affliction came in his cruel experiences of the 
ways of the world. His boon companions and his jovial friends 
fell back from him. His patron, whom he might have betrayed 
by his disclosures, and whom he stood by devotedly with a 
self-sacrifice which cannot but throw a lustre upon his charac- 
ter even at this painful period, from the moment of his arrest 
deserted him. Danzi alone was “true as steel.” Without be- 
ing swayed by any coward fears of compromising himself or his 
position, he openly proclaimed Carl Maria’s innocence, peti- 
tioned and entreated, and even undauntedly demanded a per- 
sonal interview, for explanation rather than intercession, with 
the dreaded monarch. Bitter indeed was the experience of 
those sixteen days spent within a prison’s wall, — bitter, and yet 
healing. Those sixteen days were a dark cleft in Weber’s 
life, sundering the weak, reckless youth, half artist, half fine 
gentleman, trifling with his own genius, and ever ready to turn 
aside out of its true path, from the mature and resolute man, 
conscious of his own weaknesses, yet determined in his line of 
duty, earnest, orderly, true to himself and to his destiny, — the 
noble, admirable, gifted man, whose character is “ for all time.” 

The examination of the alleged culprit took place, it would 
appear, in the cabinet of the king, who thundered out his foul- 
est rage on Carl Maria, and tried in every way to intimidate 
him. The time was come when majesty might be avenged. 
Every advantage was taken against Carl Maria, with the evi- 
dent purpose of crushing the young man forever. His apart- 
ment had been ransacked. ‘Two silver candlesticks, a present 
from Prince Adam, and even the money received from the sale 
of his compositions, were brought against him as evidence of 


f 


EXAMINATION BEFORE THE KING. 101 


theft. But the youth was undaunted. He solemnly swore that 
he was wholly ignorant of the device by which the money was. 
raised from Honer; and parried with tact all the insidious in- 
terrogating as to his knowledge of appointments sold for the 
evasion of military conscription, so as not to compromise his 
ungrateful patron the duke. Even Franz Anton, who, in his 
turn, was severely examined and threatened, exhibited more 
firmness and good sense than could have been well expected of 
the weak-minded old man. He resolutely asserted the truth 
and innocence of his son, who, he said, was incapable of any 
falsehood or dishonorable action ; whilst he himself was only 
“a poor, foolish man, whose memory gvas gone.” The king 
was sharp enough in judgment not to see what was the real 
truth in the matter: for many reasons, too, he was anxious to 
stifle the affair. But he was not to be cheated wholly of his 
opportunity of revenge. Carl Maria was transferred from the 
criminal prison to the prison for debt. Numerous creditors 
now, of course, came forward to press for his detention. But 
it soon became clear that this step was not agreeable to the 
highest authorities; and it was resolved by the claimants that 
it would be better to come to a private arrangement. Carl 
Maria was released. 

But Friedrich had now gained his ends. Without any con- 
sideration for the just claims of his own subjects, under these 
circumstances, he gave orders that the Webers, father and son, 
should be immediately transported over the boundaries. On 
the morning of the 26th February, 1810, they were suddenly 
aroused by a commissary of police, ordered to pack up their 
things, put into a carriage which was to convey. them to the 
nearest frontier point, and thus despatched out of the country, 
without being allowed one word, one line of communication, 
_ With a single friend. In Stuttgart the rumor ran that day, that 
they had been taken to the fortress of Hohenasberg ; and many 
a sigh of commiseration was breathed for the amiable young 
artist, of whose innocence and honor no one for a moment 
doubted, and who was generally looked upon as the unlucky 


102 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


scape-goat of a personage whose position raised him above pun- 
ishment. 

On starting for exile, the fortunes of the Webers were re- 
duced to the pitiful sum of forty florins. But Gotz, the police- 
officer who accompanied them, was a singular specimen of his 
race. He, with all the other inhabitants of Stuttgart, was con- 
vinced of the youth’s innocence. He pressed the sum of 
twenty-five florins more into Carl Maria’s hand, and gave him, 
by stealth, several letters of introduction for Manheim, which 
the good Danzi had confided to his care; the good Danzi, who 
in his bitterness of affliction wrote a few weeks afterwards to 
Carl Maria, saying, tha® rather than keep foot upon the hated 
soil of Wiurtemberg, he desired to give up his post. 

In Firfeld, the frontier-town, the Webers, father and son, 
were officially informed that they were banished from Wiir- 
temberg for life, and could never again enter that country. 

Sad was this last scene of Weber’s youthful follies, — so sad, 
that, during his whole life, he sought, as far as possible, to efface 
from his mind all recollection of those days. With his friends 
in after-years, even with his wife, he sought to preserve a com- 
plete silence upon this miserable time. Even his letters of 
that period he endeavored to recall and destroy, that none 
might know its utter wretchedness. 

It may be here stated, that Duke Ludwig, very shortly after 
this affair, was so utterly repudiated by his brother, that he 
went off to Russia, and for many years never visited the coun- 
try. He returned only to live in strict retirement. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


MANHEIM AND HEIDELBERG IN 1810. 


THE unhappy wandering couple turned their steps to Man- 
heim. Both were attracted to that town, although by different 
motives. Franz Anton hoped to revive the long-slumbering 
connections of his own young days: he was speedily to find 
that death, or the shifting changes of life, had robbed him of 
them all. Carl Maria had good Danzi’s letters of introduction 
thither: he had resolved, at any and every sacrifice, once more 
to devote himself to his art alone; and he knew that on Man- 
heim still shone the reflected rays of those musical and theatri- 
eal glories which Carl Theodor’s love of art and fine taste had 
once shed around it. 

Before the year 1778, when the court of Carl Theodor had 
been transferred to Munich, the theatre of Manheim had very 
justly obtained, under the happy auspices of the accomplished 
elector, and with the assistance of Holzbauer and Vogler, the 
high reputation of being the best opera in Germany. But this 
celebrated establishment had been broken up. A portion of 
the company had followed the prince: the remainder had been 
dispersed to all four quarters of Germany. Then came the 
eannon of Clairfait to batter the splendid opera-house to the 
ground. But the feeling for all that is good and true in art 
still remained alive in the heart of that pleasant little town, 
and conjured up a sort of Indian summer of art, which still 

103 


104 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


produced blossom and fruit, and was all the more prized by the 
Manheimers, because they felt that they owed to themselves 
alone this excellent after-crop of artistic produce. A handsome 
national theatre had been rebuilt, supported by a yearly sub- 
sidy of twenty thousand florins from the elector, with the vio- 
loncello player, Petter Ritter, the composer of “Maria von 
Montalban” and other operas, as conductor of the orchestra. 
~But the Manheimers had been too long schooled in artistic 
taste to content themselves with professional excellence alone. 
They had established a society for amateur concerts, which by 
“its great exertions, unrelaxing zeal, and artistic perfection, had 
raised itself wholly out of the rank of ordinary amateur repute. 
This society, which, in the year 1809, had taken the name of 
“The Museum,” and was in possession of a very handsome 
hall, close by the theatre, had become the great central point, 
not only of all musically social life, but of all social life in 
Manheim. Contrary to the original statutes of the society, and 
not without considerable opposition on the part of many of its 
members, a small portion of its band had been recruited, 
chiefly on account of a weakness in the bass instruments, from 
the ranks of the professionals in the orchestra of the theatre. 
But the well-established reputation of the amateur concerts 
cannot be said to have been any way injured thereby. All 
were, in truth, artists alike. 

At the head of the society stood Gottfried Weber, the chief 
of the revenue department in Manheim,—an amiable and 
pleasing man, about thirty-one years of age in 1810. Gottfried 
Weber, with his fundamental musical knowledge, his active 
spirit, and truly eminent talent for conducting both orchestra 
and chorus, was just the man to inspire a musical society with 
all the fire that glowed in his own heart. He was possessed 
of wonderful energy of manner as well as of purpose; felt that 
the path of art on which he was destined to move was one 
rather of sound theoretical judgment than of practical direc- 
tion ; and devoted himself to the severest study of the 
requirements of his post with unflagging industry and an 


THE MUSEUM. 105 


ton will. By the soundness of his theories, as well as by 
his profound knowledge, he exercised a great authority over 
all musicians. Fortunately for him, the official world around 
him had the good sense, unlike modern pragmatical pedants in 
office, to see that the pursuit of an ennobling art was not 
necessarily prejudicial to the due fulfilment of stringent public 
service; and he might have looked upon it as an especial 
mercy that he was spared a perpetual struggle against obsti- 
nacy and stupidity in bureaucratic form. His wife, a charming 
and beautiful woman, who was the pride and honor of his life, 
possessed a bewitching soprano voice, and a thoroughly solid 
Italian method, which rendered her the brightest gem in the 
crown of the society. By a rare chance, one of her friends, a 
Friiulein Theresa Grua, was gifted with a contralto voice of 
almost equal charm, and as admirably trained. The tenor 
voice was supplied by Walter, then engaged at the theatre. 
Crowds flocked so eagerly for admission to the ranks of the 
choruses, that it was necessary to exercise the severest judg- 
ment and considerable tact in the selection. ‘The Museum,” 
in 1810, was thus in a condition, under the guidance of Gott- 
fried Weber’s firm baton, to give vocal and instrumental 
performances which might well rival with the best. 

Such was the artistic world into which Carl Maria entered, 
when, as a poor exile and banished criminal, he arrived at 
Manheim on the 27th February, 1810. From Danzi, who not 
only had exercised so powerful an influence upon his artistic 
development, but seemed now to hold all the threads of the 
young composer’s destiny in his hand, he had letters of recom 
mendation — those precious letters rescued from the’ prying 
eye of tyranny —for Gottfried Weber, Capellmeister Ritter, 
and other estimable personages of the town. By all, Carl 
. Maria was received with kindness. But for none of those, who 
now stretched forth the hand to him, did he conceive that 
immediate sympathy which he at once experienced for Gott- 
fried Weber. ‘This sympathy was responded to with all the 
force of Gottfried’s energetic nature. An enduring and prac- 


106 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 
= 

tical friendship between the-two men sprang up to maturity 
in about as many days as it generally takes years to rear so 
marvellous a plant. This reciprocal affection in men whose 
ages differed considerably may have been favored by the fact 
that Carl Maria’s exuberant youthful spirits had been consid- 
erably tamed down by the sad events of the more immediate 
past, and that his manners had assumed the appearance of 
more mature and earnest manhood. The time was come, when, 
for his own good as for that of Art, his own awakened energies 
and the attachment of worthy friends were to rescue him from 
that abnormal and diseased state of mind into which a demor- 
alized condition of society and his own folly had plunged him. 

Carl Maria’s first care was to see his old father, whose 
infirmities were increasing more and more, and whose fits of 
intellectual weakness became more and more frequent, well and 
comfortably bestowed. An asylum was found for him in the 
house of Gottfried Weber’s father, who, with the readiest kind- 
ness, offered to take care of the poor old man during the absences 
of Carl Maria. His mind once relieved from this burden, the 
young composer pushed his journey on to Heidelberg in order 
to visit his old friend Voss, who had received the title of Baden 
Court Counsellor, and resided there in retirement; as also 
to present a letter from Danzi to Musical-Director Hoffman, 
through whose intermediation he trusted to be able to give a 
concert. This concert Carl Maria looked upon as a door open 
for the return of the prodigal son to his home of Art; and it 
was not without feelings of awe that he took the steps which 
might lead him to so desirable a result. 

The first of these steps, taken immediately on his arrival at 
picturesque old Heidelberg, led him at once to the room of a 
fine young fellow just completing his university education as a 
student. This was Alexander von Dusch, the brother of 
Gottfried Weber’s lovely wife. He was an enthusiastic melo- 
maniac, and beloved by all that knew him. Gottfried Weber 
had urged upon his young friend an acquaintance with his 
amiable brother-in-law. The recommendation was little 


ALEXANDER VON DUSCH. 107 
needed: scarcely had the two young men seen each other, 
scarcely had Dusch conversed with the young stranger half an 
hour, and heard him play ten minutes, — when the two were 
sworn friends for life. Through life, that friendship was to be 
for both a treasure. It seemed as though destiny had resolved 
to compensate poor Carl Maria, immediately after those miser- 
able days of his existence, when his bitter experience of the 
world might have crushed all affections in his heart, by show- 
ering into his lap the choicest gems of friendship and heart’s 
kindliness. Friends were now fated to come around him, 
whose attachment was to prove a golden thread of Ariadne, 
to show him the true path through all the dark labyrinth of life, 
and form a warm and sunny background to the picture of the 
future, in which fame and homage were to be the prominent 
and noble figures. 

Dusch, full of pride in his newly-acquired friend, carried off 
Weber with a sort of triumph into the midst of all the little 
musical world of Heidelberg, — that charming Heidelberg, 
which pours forth such rich treasures of loveliness from its 
golden forest-circled goblet of the Valley of the Neckar. Musi- 
ceal-Director Hoffmann, stimulated as much by the enthusiastic 
introduction of young Dusch as by Danzi’s letter, frankly and 
freely offered the youth his aid to forward the important pro- 
ject of the concert. All the influential amateur musicians of 
the town, stirred up by Dusch’s zeal, consented to favor the 
attempt in every way. Old Gries, the translator of Ariosto 
and Tasso, who had the direction of all the town concerts, and 
who, in spite of his deafness, was a devoted worshipper of 
music, held out his influential hand to the young man: and 
even that uncompromising musical rigorist, the celebrated 
jurist, Justus Thibaut, was greatly interested in the youthful 
genius, and at first welcomed him warmly to his house; 
although he afterwards, in consequence of his peculiar musical 
notions, became Weber’s determined opponent. All, then, 
seemed to go well for Carl Maria’s hopes. 

Other friends too, less influential in a musical point of view, 


108 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


welcomed the young composer kindly. The heart of old Hein- 
rich Voss warmed at once to the young man, whom, shortly 
before his departure from Eutin, he had known only as a clever, 
promising boy. The rigorous patriarchal rules of the old 
poet’s household, however, were too fettering for the spirits of 
youth; and, in spite of his great respect for the celebrated 
classic, Carl Maria was not often in his society. Far more fre- 
quent intercourse was carried on with the Houts, —a family then 
residing at Stift Neuburg, an ancient convent, situated like a 
little paradise in a most romantic position, on the banks of the 
Neckar, at a short distance from Heidelberg. For the inhabit- 
ants of this sweet spot, Carl Maria had letters of introduction 
from Danzi; and one of his greatest Heidelberg pleasures was 
to wander thither with his friend Dusch, who himself loved 
dearly this “abode created for poetic natures,” as he was wont 
to call Stift Neuburg. The mistress of the house soon became 
one of the warmest admirers of Carl Maria’s genius. No won- 
der, then, that the “ little paradise,” with its excellent inmates, 
should have formed the nucleus of the many attractions that 
bound the young man’s heart in so many bonds of love to 
Heidelberg. 

The town possessed also many men of talent and worth, in 
whose society young Carl Maria was proud to linger. As may 
naturally be supposed, his new young student-friend Dusch took, 
care to affiliate so genial a fellow with the student band of the 
university. Carl Maria was not the man to shirk the drinking- 
bouts of such jovial associates, or hold back from the riotous 
pleasantries of the students’ “ Commers.” The artist, whose 
destiny it was always to see youth and enthusiasm and the 
spirit of progress ranged on his side throughout life, naturally 
won, at the first start, ail the hearts of the merry crew. He 
sang some of his sprightliest songs to them; tickled their 
fancies with his sparkling guitar; and, on one of his first even- 
ings, arranged a serenade of students in honor of the most 
noted belles of the ball-room, which proved a signal success. 

With such friends around him, Carl Maria looked forward 


FIRST CONCERT AT MANHEIM. 109 


to a brilliant. concert. He had paved the way for this much- 
desired event by playing his own variations on the air “ Vien 
qua Dorina bella” at a great amateur concert, and by charming 
all hearts, not only with his brilliant execution on the piano, 
but with the ineffable grace and feeling of his play. But it 
had been strange indeed if ill-luck should have altogether, and 
at once, released its hold on the much-fried young composer. 
It owed him a bad turn in the midst of so much joy. After 
one of the “ Commers” parties of the students, a “row,” occa- 
sioned by a quarrel, took place in the town, and soon assumed 
the dimensions of so formidable a riot, that it became necessary 
to despatch military troops to Heidelberg to quell the uproar. 
The greatest sufferer by the affair was poor Carl Maria, whose 
hopefully-anticipated concert, just then on the point of taking 
place, entirely fell to the ground in the confusion. 

Meanwhile, however, through the influence of Gottfried 
Weber and other friends, the path had been smoothed for him 
to give a concert at Manheim. So thither he returned: and, 
on the 9th March, Carl Maria was enabled to give his first 
concert since his return into the bosom of his art; and not 
only to perform several of his own piano compositions, but to 
hear his first symphony, written during the happy days at the 
little court of Carlsruhe in Silesia, admirably executed by 
the amateur band of Manheim. 

But the poor fellow’s purse, reduced to the miserable pit- 
tance of forty florins on his arrival at Manheim, was not much 
enriched by the result of this first effort. All expenses paid, 
thirteen florins alone remained. He stuck stanchly by his re- 
solve to run no more into debt ; but hunger stared him in the 
face. In this dilemma, his new friends still stood by him. A 
second concert was arranged: it took place on the 2d of April, 
with a crowded hall, and under the happiest auspices. Carl 
Maria’s symphony was repeated “by desire:” he played him- 
self in his own charming quartets for piano-forte, violin, viola, 
and violoncello; and— what was far more important for his 
fame — his cantata, “ Der Erste Ton,” was first produced in 


110 WEBER’S EARLY YEABS. 


admirable style, and before a competent public. The choice 
Manheim band of amateurs and artists worked with love and 
zeal in the orchestra under Gottfried Weber’s spirited conduc- 
torship: the choir of voices, in which all the solo-singers joined, 
gave the fullest effect to the choruses. The great tragedian 
Esslair, whose fame is still cherished and honored throughout 
all Germany, declaimed the verses of the poem with masterly 
effect. The clear tones of his wonderfully beautiful voice 


united themselves, as if by inspiration, with the music, and 


swelled with power and majesty over the torrent of sound; 
and when the storm-of his marvellous declamation gave way 
to the full burst of the final chorus, so animated in rhythm, 
and so rich in tone, the whole audience involuntarily burst 
forth into a tumult of applause. It was a proud moment in 
the young composer’s life. The musician, the lover of art, the 
critic, were all unanimous in their delight at this remarkable 
concert. The fame of Weber’s genius, it was said, was estab- 
lished, by this one evening, far along the banks of the Rhine, 
from the Black Forest to the Taunus Mountains. Perhaps, 
however, it was more to the young fellow’s purpose, at that 
moment, that the results of the evening should have added the 
modest sum of three and fifty florins to his miserable purse. 
At Easter, 1810, Alexander von Dusch had returned to his 
family in Manheim upon the termination of his studies at the 
university ; and with the re-union of the two new friends, both 
so richly endowed with musical genius, both so warm-hearted 
and enthusiastic in their nature, began that pleasant period at 
Manheim, in which genius and art went hand in hand with 
youth and life and spirit, and which- all, who were happy 
enough to catch a glimpse of the fairy sheen at that magic cir- 
cle then conjured up, looked back upon in after-years, brief as 
was the time, as a paradise lost. The ruling spirits of that 
circle — Gottfried Weber, Dusch, and Carl Maria — were wont 
to lead a happy, wandering life between Manheim and Heidel- 
berg, with its alluring Stift Neuberg. Often might they be 
seen, on such occasions, strolling by moonlight along the Valley 


THE THREE FRIENDS. fafa 


-of the Neckar, whilst the sprightly notes of the guitar and the 
sound of sweetly-murmured songs floated on the still night-air. 
Now they were to be found playing Haydn’s trios with earnest 
zeal, on piano, violin, and violoncello, in the museum at Man- 
heim; on the morrow “commercing” with the students of 
Heidelberg with hearts as fresh and full as when they sang 
by the river-side, or made music in their hall. Full of the 
profoundest love of Art, and yet of the richest joyousness, was 
their life at home in Manheim. Often at morning’s dawn 
might they be found together at breakfast in the dwelling of 
one or other; together again at the dinner-table of “The 
Three Kings,’ — unless indeed, as was frequently the case, 
both Dusch and Carl Maria dined with Gottfried Weber; to- 
gether again in the evening, laboring devotedly at their darling 
art. To these evening meetings other artistic spirits were ad- 
mitted; among whom Berger, the comedian and tenor, was 
one of the most distinguished. In the best family-circles, the 
talented trio was in constant requisition : and enchanting were 
the evenings, when at the house of Count Benzel-Sternau, the 
President of the Supreme Court of Manheim, and his accom- 
plished wife, all were united, with the choicest society of young, 
gifted, and beautiful female amateurs, around the table or piano ; 
and sunny hearts beat and bright faces smiled under the en- 
chantment of music’s charms. No pedantry ruled here; and 
often comic canons, composed on the spot by Carl Maria to 
fitting words, and studied as they flowed from his pen, raised 
the mirthful tone of the assembled party to the highest pitch. 
Often too, on bright nights, the three sworn friends, after their 
quiet supper at “ The Three Kings,” would wander through the 
hushed streets of Manheim with their cuitars, and by their 
newest songs gently wake the lady-singers from their fast slum- 
ber, in sounds so soft and sweet, that to this day the looks of 
the few old ladies still living, who were then young and lovely 
devotees to Art, will kindle at the thought of the nights, when, 
softly roused from sleep, they lay and listened with beating 
hearts to the bewitching strains. A picture it must have been 


H2 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


to any eyes that might look in upon the three young men, thus 
firmly bound together in their charming artistic bond, which 
Gottfried Weber’s influence had first woven round them, 
grouped in Weber’s little room, — punch-bowl on table, in- 
struments scattered on every side, with the big, broad-shoul- 
dered, imposing Gottfried lolling on the sofa; the dark, black- 
eyed, lithesome, animated Alexander walking in restlessness 
up and down the narrow space; and the slim, sickly-looking 
Carl Maria sprawling his legs, as was his joy to do in careless 
moments, on the table. 

‘Carl Maria’s person was then, as it always was through life, 
small, weakly, almost insignificant, — not otherwise than well 
formed, however, unless exception were to be taken to the 
long, thin neck, which rose so conspicuously from his narrow 
shoulders. The weakness of his left hip, which later in life 
gave an appearance of limping tohis movements, was not, as 
yet, very observable. There was much in him to charm, 
whether in the noble form of his somewhat lengthy head, or in 
his deep blue-gray eyes, which his friends have termed “inex- 
haustible fountains of kindliness and love;” or in the ever- 
varying expression of his face, now lightened by roguish humor 
‘or jovial enjoyment, now flushed with enthusiasm, now illu- 
mined as with a halo by profound and noble thoughts; or in 
that full baritone voice, which flowed from him so richly in 
discourse, unless sometimes broken up in strong emotion, and 
which had not yet assumed that iron tone which his experience 
of life taught him to use on necessary,occasions ; or in the ex- 
pressive, graceful, but simple gestures of his beautifully-formed 
hands; or in the unmistakable air of geniality which pervaded 
every action, every look. No wonder, then, that many women, 
and those especially of finer feeling, preferred the youth to 
handsomer and more striking men. At this period he already 
wore the long black coat, the tightly-fitting pantaloons, the 
white neck-cloth, the conspicuous shirt-frill, and the high “ can- 
non” boots, with which his portraiture is now almost insepara- 
ble in men’s minds. 


THE HARMONIC SOCIETY. 1s: 


It would be wrong to suppose that the life of the three artist- 
friends at Manheim was spent only in mirth and song and 
merry jest. The path of true art was trodden with steady and 
laborious steps ; even while, as a relief, new ideas were every 
now and then started and improvised upon piano or guitar. 
The profoundest art-criticism was the staple of most of their 
conversations. Modern poetry was judged according to its 
musical aspect and its adaptability for composition. Subjects 
for criticism were distributed to one or another, according to 
the individual qualities or idiosyncrasy of each; and critical 
articles were written by the friends, and published frequently 
in the literary and musical periodicals of the day. Nor did 
the frank_young fellows spare the severest criticisms on their 
own respective productions. “ You won’t take it ill, I know, 
brother, if I’””?— was often the prelude of many a rigorous 
judgment, which made the heart of the judged one quake. But, 
at the same time, no works that were not freely laid before the 
judgment-seat were ever touched upon in any way. Carl 
Maria, with that mixture of poetry and superstition which was 
one of the peculiar characteristics of his nature, had a leaning 
towards a belief in presentiments, auguries, and good or evil 
sizns; and it was his fancy that no new work which was 
spoken of before it arrived at completion would ever attain a 
happy issue. 

The more advantageous to their own career in Art, as well 
as to the interests of Art itself, this intellectual co-operation of 
the three ardent young men appeared to them, the more desir- 
ous they became to establish the union on a firm and practical 
basis. The idea was conceived by them of an “ Harmonic So- 
ciety,” which Weber afterwards carried out with success, and 
which was destined to play an important part in the doings 
and workings of them all. Unwittingly, and without any de- 
sire of thrusting himself forward, Carl Maria had by degrees 
assumed a superiority over his compeers, who unconsciousiy 
perhaps, but at all events with right good-will, bowed their 
heads to the yoke; and thus, in the establishment of this 

8 


114 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


“ Harmonic Society,” it was he who was unconsciously thrust 
into the first and leading post. 

Many exquisite songs were composed by Gottfried Weber, as 
well as Carl Maria, at this period, which may be looked upon 

=as important embodiments of a new idea in the composition 
of the German “ Lied.” Both felt that something more con- 
formable to sense and reason might be done with poetic words, 
than by only clothing them, as heretofore, with one mere mel- 
ody, which was. to be carried through the whole, without re- 
gard for the true weight and feeling of the verses; while still, 
as a primary condition, simplicity of style might be observed. 
That which Mozart had done in that one beautiful Lied “The 
Violet;” that which Franz Schubert carried afterwards to its 
highest pitch of development, but which has since degenerated 
in Germany into sickly, hysterical, pseudo-psychological exper- 
imentalizings, became the end and aim of the “ Lied” compo- 
sitions of the inspired young men. Most of their “ Lieder” 
were composed for the guitar; an instrument so appropriate 
to these pieces, which misuse and tasteless treatment have 
alone brought out of fashion. A rich treasury of songs of this 
description has been left to the world by Carl Maria von 
Weber; and assuredly, one day, when that world has been suf- 
ficiently surfeited with its present food for epileptic “ soul- 
sufferers,” and can find once more a taste for the solid, genuine, 
and true in Art, will they again emerge into light from the 
darkness of their temporary oblivion. 

In spite of all the manifold charms Manheim possessed for 
Carl Maria, in the daily intercourse with noble, amiable wo- 
men and distinguished men,— in spite of all his ardent desire 
to prolong an existence so congenial,— he could but feel how 
necessary it was for him, for the sake of his own fame and cul- 
tivation as an artist, and even those material profits, of which 
poor Manheim was but a scanty fountain-head, that he should 
look around him, and show himself in the world. The pros- 
pects of Art had begun to revive in Germany ; and if the crop 
of golden laurels, which afterwards lay so thickly for an artist’s 


- REMOVAL TO DARMSTADT. 115 


gathering hand, was not yet fully ripe, yet honor and a fair 
provision were still to be reaped abroad. An advantageous 
and convenient central point had to be sought out by Carl 
Maria, whence he could direct his future journeys in the inter- 
est of his art, but where he might still be able to find easy ac-. 
cess to his beloved friends ; meet them on all the more impor- 
tant occasions of their respective careers in Art; celebrate with 
them their family festivities; and now and then wander with 
them on happy pilgrimages, or warble serenades to lovely 
maids and noble dames. Darmstadt was the obvious spot to 
meet all requirements. At Darmstadt, too, now resided his 
former master, the Abbé Vogler. In heart, Carl Maria was 
deeply attached to this strange, erratic, whimsical, yet far and 
wide renowned professor of the mysteries of musical art. Good 
friend Giinsbacher, too, had followed with constancy the wan- 
derings of the seductive man: he, too, was there. So to 
Darmstadt Carl Maria was led, by affection as well as conve- 
nience and interest. 


CHAPTER IX. 


DARMSTADT IN 1810. 


Ir was not without the tribute of many tears from many 
eyes that Carl Maria was allowed to depart from Manheim, 
amidst promises of a speedy return. Gottfried Weber and 
Dusch accompanied him on his little journey to Darmstadt. 
The young composer found himself a modest lodging in the 
Ochsen-Gasse, as befitted his modest purse ; obtained board for 
his dinner at twelve kreutzer (about four-pence) a day; and, in 
spite of his straitened circumstances, prepared, with a light 
and cheery heart, to commence his new life at the neat little 
capital, then budding into note under the fatherly care of the 
Grand Duke Ludwig I. 

As early as the year 1670 a theatre had been established in 
Darmstadt, in a building which had formerly been a riding- 
school; and in the year 1710 a magnificent opera-house had 
been erected on the spot, under Landgrave Ernst Ludwig. 
Almost all the landgraves of this period had been great lovers 
of music, and had gathered the best singers and instrumental- 
ists of the day around them. Amateur concerts, even, had 
been instituted under the highest influences. The reigning 
grand duke, Ludwig I., had been schooled in the science of 
music by the best teachers of the day. He was able to read 
the most. difficult scores with ease, and was himself an excellent 
performer on violin, piano, flute, and horn. He had a legiti- 

116 . 


VOGLER IN DARMSTADT. 117 


mate pride in his admirable choir; and, not without a certain 
degree of friendly pressure, he had “collected and drilled, by 
constant earnest practice, an amateur chorus for his court con- 
certs, composed chiefly of his officers, both civil and military, 
and their wives and daughters. He had thus formed an unusu- 
ally admirable vocal band. Immediately after his accession to 
the throne in 1790, he had taken the whole opera under his 
own personal direction. He conducted himself, four times a 
week, all the opera rehearsals, and tested, engaged, organized, 
or dismissed all the members of the company, exactly like a 
professional conductor. A Capellmeister in partibus was 
provided for the performances in Georg Mangold, an admirable 
violin-player. Operas were given on Sundays in the new 
court opera-house, and purely dramatic performances on Tues- 
days and Fridays. 

This enthusiastic lover of Art had expressly invited the 
Abbé Vogler, of whom he was a devoted admirer, to Darm- 
stadt; not so much for the sake of offering the famous musician 
any especial post, as for the pride of attaching so great a 
celebrity to his court. Not that he made any especial use of 
the genius and science of the Abbé, whose advice in musical 
matters he never sought, and whom he never allowed to inter- 
fere in the direction of-the opera, except when the composer’s 
own works were produced. He had bestowed on his musical 
idol the title of Privy Counsellor, the grand cross of his order, 
and a very handsome p-nsion to gild the evening of his life. 
He had, moreover, made the old musician the present of a 
house, in which he supplied him with daily dinners and sup- 
pers from his grand-ducal kitchens, four wax-candles a day, 
and fire-wood ad libitum. Vogler, nevertheless, was almost a 
daily guest at the duke’s own table, where the good Burgundy 
was evidently very much to his taste. In all Darmstadt there was 
no better known or more striking individual than the Abbé 
Vovler. His appearance was not prepossessing, however. 
The old abbé was short and corpulent: his features were 
strongly marked, but of no very friendly expression. His 


118 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


peculiarly long arms and enormous hands, which enabled him 
to stretch with ease two octaves on the organ, gave him some- 
what the aspect of a large fat ape. Vanity was one of his 
ruling passions; and, vainer now than ever, he delighted to 
exhibit himself in all his elegance of black satin breeches, red 
silk stockings, and gold buckles in his shoes, with his great 
cross of the order of Ludwig on the left breast of his rich 
broad black coat, and his black silk ecclesiastical mantle 
jauntily hung over his right, shoulder. 

The Abbé Vogler received his beloved scholar with open 
arms. Giinsbacher was overjoyed. In the abbé’s house Carl 
Maria was destined, moreover, to make acquaintance with 
another young musical genius, as yet unknown to him. ‘This 
was Jacob Meyer Beer (more generally known under the name 
of Meyerbeer), the son of a rich banker in Berlin. Meyerbeer 
was then scarcely sixteen years of age; but his eminent musi- 
cal talents had developed themselves so early, that he already 
possessed a very considerable reputation as pianist. He was 
now studying music under the Abbé Vogler, in whose house, 
for the better furtherance of his labors, he was lodged and 
boarded. His master was enchanted with his unwearying 
industry and zeal, his restless activity, and his almost incredi- 
ble quickness of conception, which, in all the technical portion 
of the science, seemed to amount to divination. Although but 
a boy as yet, he possessed such powers of execution on the 
piano, that he might already have earned a handsome inde- 
pendence as a professional performer, had not fortune raised 
him above any such necessity. He was able to play the most 
elaborate instrumental scores at sight, with a full mastery of 
every part, which amounted to the marvellous; and this pecu- 
liar talent he was accustomed to exercise upon the principal 
scores of all the great masters, which he was fortunate enough 
to possess, bound with care, in his great musical library, to the 
envy, and to the great benefit also, of his young fellow-laborers. 
So untiring was his industry, that, for weeks together, he would 
never leave his room, or put off his dressing-gown, when fasci- 


~ 


YOUNG MEYERBEER. 119 


nated by some new branch of musical study. His four-part 
“Sacred Songs of Klopstock” had already been published, 
and had entitled him to respect as a composer. Such was the 
little insignificant-looking boy-artist Meyerbeer at this period. 
His amiable and friendly disposition soon attracted him to the 
young, joyous, animated, high-spirited “sucking” maestro, who 
had dashed over from Manheim; although his colder and more 
reserved North-German nature was never able to express that 
warmer and more demonstrative affection which had bound 
Carl Maria’s expansive heart to such friends as Ginsbacher 
and those from whom he had just parted with so heavy a 
heart. . 

The small circle in the midst of which Carl Maria now 
found himself came together either in the Abbé Vogler’s 
house, or in that of Court-Counsellor Hoffman, who was after- 
wards one of Weber’s most zealous supporters. Days were 
thus spent in musical studies or exercises under Vogler’s 
advice and superintendence; although Carl Maria cannot be 
said to have been precisely a pupil of the abbé’s at this 
period. The three young men frequently accompanied the 
greatest organ-player of his age—as Vogler indisputably 
was — to one of the churches of the little capital ; and never, 
as Weber was wont afterwards to say, did the abbé pour 
forth such wondrous angel-tones, or thunder peals on the in- 
strument in such rich beauties of fancy, as when he thus sat 
and played alone for his “ three dear boys.” 

The old master, whose grave, frowning face had never 
known a smile, grew young again amidst the vivifying rays of 
young genius which he truly felt were sparkling around him. 
“Ah! had I been forced to leave the world betore I had 
formed these two,” he afterwards said of Weber and Meyer- 
beer, “I should have died a miserable man.” 

But life at Darmstadt was cruelly unattractive to Carl 
Maria after the charming, happy days of Manheim and Hei- 
delberg. “I only take up my dull goose-quill,” he wrote to 
Gottfried Weber, “to tell you, in the dullest words, how dull I 


120 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 

feei in this dull Darmstadt.” Occasionally, it is true, friends 
would come over to him; and then, as he said, “the sun 
would shine through the prison-bars of the poor artist starving 
on love’s bread and water.” With Gansbacher and young 
Meyerbeer, however, he would do his best to snatch a few 
-rays of life’s joyousness. But what was to be done in that 
town of an order and discipline almost military, where people 
would run to the windows with astonishment, if forms, without 
uniform or measured step, should be passing along the street ? 
The three did their best, and, when they could escape from 
the “old fellows,’ would “shake off their dust,” as Weber 
said, and stroll into the still streets to make music as they 
went. Then merry Carl Maria would jump upon some gar- 
den-table of a pot-house, with his guitar around his neck, and 
sing, with his old mad _ joviality, his most roguish songs to the 
soldiers and their girls, until the “ welkin rang” with the loud 
merriment. Or the young men went “a melody-hunting,” and 
snatched new inspiration from the popular ditties of the day. 
Out of some such common tune would afterwards grow a mas- 
ter melody, which bore about as much resemblance to the 
original as the brilliant butterfly to the dingy chrysalis. The 
principal idea of the famous “ Invitation to the Waltz,” and of 
the ballet music in the third act of “ Oberon,” thus, it is said, 
sprang into existence. Weak-minded critics made it a re- 
proach to the great master, in atter-years, that he thus caught 
inspiration on the wing; as if it were not the attribute of 
creative genius to light a flame at a mere faint spark, which 
itself flickers, vanishes, and is extinct. 

The young men must have found their sources of fun some- 
what barren. One of their merriest jokes they owed to Carl 
Maria’s dog, whom he had named “ Ma’mselle.” When a 
pretty girl passed in the street, “ Ma’mselle, Ma’mselle!” was 
called, until the damsel turned, looked round, —to the great 
delight of the young fellows, —and then was made to under- 
stand that it was to the dog the name applied. Or they sat 
on the bench before the Rhine-gate eating cherries for a 


* DULL DARMSTADT. 121 


wager; the one who ate up his own parcel first, receiving a 
fourth extra supply as his reward. Simple enough were these 
little jocosities. And yet the precise little town found plenti- 
ful food for scandal in discussing these excesses of wanton 
youth; and even the Grand Duke himself took occasion to 
grumble against these skittish young fellows, who would go 
their ways in such an objectionably independent manner, and 
actually shirked the opportunities for attending his august opera 
rehearsals. 

Occasions there certainly were when .Darmstadt and Man- 
heim made pilgrimages at the same time to Heidelberg, 
where “Commers” parties were still held with wine-bibbing 
students; and when Darmstadt would then go to Manheim, or 
Manheim to Darmstadt, to sleep off the effects of the last 
night’s liquor, and find an excuse in “ Katzenjammer” for 
lingering on a few days longer from home. Art, however, can- 
not be said to have lost by these wanderings. Wherever they 
went, the young brethren in Art conjured up a magic circle of 
artistic enjoyment around them. In the families they visited, 
especial admiration was excited by many a musical duet be- 
tween the two most genial and attractive geniuses and best 
piano-forte players of the company, — Carl Maria and young 
Meyerbeer. On these occasions, an air was generally given 
for improvisation by a lady of the party, sometimes two airs, 
the most incongruous in their nature, which the two young 
artists were to work up together, and often under the most 
absurd conditions, — such as the taking each other up in the 
middle of a passage, or the avoidance of certain transitions or 
forms. These fantastic improvisations of the two youths on 
two pianos invariably excited the most ardent enthusiasm, as 
science and melody combined streamed from their facile fin- 
gers; and all the delighted hearers were wont to declare that 
never were greater gems of art composed by the two than the 
music which flowed from them in these extempore effusions. 

There was a reciprocal advantage in the new friendships 
_ here formed by young Meyerbeer. He, on the one hand, had 


122 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. e 


the delight of hearing his beautiful Klopstock songs admirably 
executed under Gottfried Weber’s direction; and, on the 
other hand, the Manheimers thoroughly enjoyed, after another 
fashion, the caviare, Pomeranian goose-breasts, and other deli-« 
cacies which good Papa Beer was accustomed to send to his 
industrious child at Darmstadt, and which the good-tempered 
boy often allowed to vanish down other throats, to the accom- 
paniment of music and song, without having one scrap left for 
himself. 

As early as the month of March, 1810, Carl Maria had re- 
ceived from Hiemer the words of the operetta of “ Abu 
Hassan,” which he once had been so anxious to obtain. But 
the subject now reminded him of a time which he would fain 
have wholly forgotten, and was distasteful to him. His opera 

_of “Sylvana” ran in his head. He had gone through it to his 
friends at Stift Neuburg with general applause; and all his 
yearnings now were for the subject of another grand romantic 
opera. Full of this besetting idea, he could only find fancy 
for analogous melodies. Many flowed from his fertile brain, 
some of which were to find their place long afterwards. Thus, 
whilst one evening at Stift Neuburg he was leaning out of the 
window, commanding a view of the most romantic beauty, in 
an apartment which he occupied with his friend Dusch, chat- 
tering, humming, dreaming in the sweet air of a_ bright 
moonlight night in spring, he burst out into a melody, which 
‘was, long years yet to come, to form the introductory fairy 
chorus in “ Oberon.” Another melody streamed forth to the 
words of “ Ah, Fatima beloved!” in “ Abu Hassan,” as he 
threw off his clothes to retire at last to bed. The next morn- 
ing, both were forgotten. But Dusch had treasured them. He 
took a sly opportunity of repeating them; when Weber flew at 
him, took him by the throat, and laughingly exclaimed, “ You 
scoundrel! you have stolen that out of my head, where I hap- 
pened to mislay it.” 

Full as Carl Maria was at this period of his idea of a new 
romantic opera, he stumbled, strange to say, upon a subject 





IN SEARCH OF FORTUNE. 196 


into which he was long afterwards to pour all the true essence 
of his genius. It came before him suddenly, like a spectre, — 
a shadowy spectre yet. It was summer-time now. The young 
friends were again at beautiful Stift Neuburg. One of the 
books lying about in the drawing-room fell into their hands. 
It was Apel’s “ Ghost-Stories.”” They skimmed the book to- 
gether. One story, especially, arrested their attention; and 
both exclaimed with one breath, “ What a fine subject for an 
opera!” ‘This story was called “ Der Freischiitz.” The young 
men started off at_once to Manheim with their prize. The 
early dawn of the next morning found them sitting together 
on Dusch’s sofa, after a whole night of labor, with pale cheeks 
and burning heads, but sparkling eyes. The whole opera-book 
was constructed; some scenes were sketched out. Dusch un- 
dertook to write the words at once. But pressing business- 
affairs came in his way. Carl Maria again took heart to work 
at “Abu Hassan;” and “ Der Freischiitz”’ was laid aside. 
No doubt, the truest interests of Art had won thereby. The 
work of 1810 could never have been the work of the matured 
genius of 1821; and never, perhaps, would Weber then have 
found a subject so congenial to his soul, so fitted to enhance 
his fame, as was, in after-years, “ Der Freischiitz.” 

In all his pleasant intercourse with friends, young Weber 
had not forgotten the main purpose of his present life. Let- 
ters from Vogler to the Prince-Bishop Carl von Dalberg prom- 
ised him a harvest at Aschaffenburg; and thither he bent 
his way. The prince-bishop received the young artist with 
friendly amenity, invited him to supper, but laughingly shook 
his head at any thought of a concert at the palace. All 
his little court was laid up, he said: one had a swelled 
face, another a bad eye, a third a fit of gout, a fourth a 
bad attack of rheumatism, and all the rest the influenza, 
What was to be done? A private concert in the town was 
arranged, however; and it put a few florins into the needy 
artist’s purse. Thence with letters of introduction from Count 
Benzel-Sternau to Prince Leiningen at Amorbach. Here, 


Pa WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


again, Carl Maria was received with simple and sincere kind- 
heartedness, and afforded every opportunity most favorable: ta 
his talent. The prospect of many pleasant days amidst the 
princely family was before him, when Weber heard by chance 
that his generous and enlightened patron, Prince Eugen of 
Wiirtemberg, his amiable host of Carlsruhe in Silesia, would 
be in Frankfort on the 3d of May. Carl Maria burned with 
desire to explain to the man he so much reverenced and loved 
_the true circumstances of hif¥ignominious exile from Stuttgart ; 
to exonerate himself of all in which he had been maligned ; 
to beg for an indulgent judgment of his follies and errors. 
He hurried to Frankfort. The duke received him with open 
arms, and tears in his eyes; and refused to separate himself 
from the poor youth until the hour of his departure on the 
following morning. And so the night was passed between the 
two in grave and earnest discourse; the duke stretched upon 
the bed to snatch a little rest, with Carl Maria by his side, till 
morning dawned. When the travelling-carriage was at the 
gate, the duke once more pressed Carl Maria to his heart, as- 
sured him of his own conviction of his thorough innocence, 
passed a valuable ring from his own finger to the youth’s hand, 
and went his way. : 

Car] Maria was in luck at Frankfort. He was enabled to 
find in Simrock, the musical publisher, a purchaser for his can- 
tata, “ The First Tone; ” his great Polonaise in E, a quartet; 
his potpourri for the violoncello; and six songs. Can it be 
said, “in luck,” however? For all this music, he could only 
wring out of his publisher the sum of a hundred and fifty flo- 
rins. By the Polonaise alone, which became a favorite piano- 
piece, Simrock made many thousands ! 

The end of May found Carl Maria once more in Manheim 
and Heidelberg. In the former town, his principal object was 
to be present at the production of his good friend Giinsbacher’s 
symphony at a museum concert. He availed himself of the 
opportunity, however, to give to the public of Manheim two 
new compositions, — the rondo and adagio of his own splendid 


BIRTHDAY ODE TO VOGLER. 125 


piano concerto, No. 1; and the charming rondo, “O dolce 
speranza!” with opening recitative “Il momento s’avvyicina,” 
written for Mademoiselle Frank, the singer; both of which 
pieces were repeated by acclamation. Giinsbacher’s symphony 
wearied by its length; and thus Carl Maria carried off all the 
honors of the evening. A notice of this concert was published 
by him in the “ Leipsiker Allgemeine Musik-zeitung,” without 
the slightest mention of his own successes. His careful criti- 
cism of Giinsbacher’s symphony showed at the same time 
how conscientious he could be, even in the judgment of his 
dearest friend. 

In Heidelberg, the concert was for his own benefit. For this 
latter occasion, he wrote an andante, and variations for violon- 
cello with full band, for the purpose of producing the talent of 
his amiable and talented friend Alexander von Dusch to the 
best advantage. It was a glorious day for Heidelberg when 
two such petted favorites of the town, as Dusch and Carl Maria, 
were to unite their efforts on one evening; and it terminated, 
of course, with a thorough jubilee in the shape of an uproarious 
“commers” with the admiring band of students. A little 
more money flowed from this concert into the struggling art- 
ist’s purse. , 

Thence started Carl Maria as fast as he could for Darmstadt, 
where the Abbé Vogler’s pupils were arranging a musical fes- 
tivity to celebrate the sixty-first birthday of their much-re- 
spected master, familiarly called by all “ papa.” For the musi- 
cal composition of a required ode, all the three young fellows 
were ready enough; but for this ode the poetry was wanting. 
None was willing to renounce the musical share of the partition 
of labor: so it was decided that the less cherished part of 
poetaster should be decided by lot. It was so; and the lot fell 
to Carl Maria. Each now strove to do their best in amiable 
rivalry. All félt that it was probably the last and only occa- 
sion when it might be granted them to do honor to the old 
master, united in that bond. Maria’s verses were pleasant, to 
the point, and warm from his heart: as high poetical effusions, 


126 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. . 


they were not, perhaps, distinguished. The composition of two 
solos fell to Ginsbacher, a terzet and chorus to young Mey- 
erbeer. Nothing, even at that time, could exceed the glow and 
simple fervor of the boy Meyerbeer’s birthday composition. 
The rehearsals were pursued with as much zeal as love and 
reverence: Besides the three young artists, several of the most 
distinguished ladies and gentlemen of the town, among whom 
happened to be Theresa Beer, Meyerbeer’s sister, took part in 
the arrangements. The old musician’s bust was crowned by 
the hands of his three children in Art. His rooms were adorned 
with garlands woven by the ladies. ~The last few dearly- 
earned florins of Carl Maria and Giinsbacher were spent upon 
a banquet, to be offered to the great musician and the assist- 
ants in the festivity. Vogler, then busied with the unceasing 
rehearsals of his opera of “ Samori,” for the Darmstadt Theatre, 
knew nothing of the festivities prepared, until he was solemnly 
led into the apartment to hear the ode so lovingly composed in 
his honor. The capricious old abbé had been mortified that 
morning by not receiving any flattering notice of such an im- 
portant day from the Grand Duke. The great ones of the earth 
had failed; his vanity was wounded ; and the poor artist-choir 
was destined to feel the smart. The old gentleman received 
the well-meant honors coldly. An icy breath soon chilled all 
the heart’s warmth of the ardent executants; and it needed 
all the efforts of the three young artists to promote a partial 
thaw. 

Spite of this little ebullition of temper, the Abbé Vogler was 
sincerely attached to his “ dear boys.” Of Carl Maria’s critical 
acumen, as well as of his creative powers, he had a great idea; 
and with this feeling he set the youth to work upon a lengthy | 
notice of twelve chorales by Sebastian Bach, which the abbé 
himself was then arranging. The task was a weighty one. - It 
might do him credit, or, as he wrote to Gottfried Weber in a 
highly characteristic and humorous letter, “ bring a whole pack 
of hounds upon his back.” He felt, too, very probably, that 
the free expression of his own opinions would be denied him. — 


aa 
¥ 


JOURNEY WITH VOGLER. 127 


But he set to work at’last with a cheerful spirit, and completed 
his article, which was duly published, without the disastrous 
effects he feared, —of being “hunted down with a tantivy.” 
Again the abbé showed his partiality for the young composet 
by urging Carl Maria to accompany him on an artistic journey 
to Frankfort and Mayence. 

In many ways was this journey to be of importance in young 
Weber’s destiny. He had already received from the director 
of the Frankfort National Theatre the intimation that his opera 
of “ Sylvana”’ might be produced upon those boards. On his 
arrival in Frankfort with Vogler, however, he found this hope 
a “hope deferred.” But any heart’s sickness at this little dis- 
appointment was neutralized by the discovery that his old 
Stuttgart flame, the heroine of so many of his follies, the 
warmly-loved Gretchen Lang, was then in Frankfort. Vogler 
was forgotten on the instant, and to his charming little song- 
stress Carl Maria rushed. But times were changed. Perhaps 
the little lady’s love had cooled, or flown elsewhere; perhaps 
the youth himself found that the ideal so cherished in memory 
lost its brightness before the searching light of reality. No one 
was behind the scenes at the last act of their little drama to tell 
the hows or whys; but all was over. Although Carl Maria 
passed almost every hour of his stay in Frankfort by his Gretch- 
en’s side, the once-loving pair parted from each other coldly; 
and thus was the youth healed of a passion, which, if renewed, 
might again have exercised a blighting influence on his path 
of life. It was by a strange trick of fate, that on the very last 
evening when Carl Maria sat by the side of the once-beloved 
at a public concert, his eyes first fell upon a sweet and lovely 
girl, who stepped into the orchestra to sing an air by Paér. 
His last words of love to Gretchen Lang were spoken at the 
hour when his looks first lighted upon Caroline Brandt, — upon 
her who was afterwards to be his much-loving, much-beloved 
wife. 

Vogler had secured his customary triumphs on the organ in 
Frankfort, Mayence, Hanau, and Offenbach; at which latter 


128 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


place, the young composer again parted with his piano con- 
certo, his symphony, and six unwritten sonatas, to André the 
publisher, for another poor sum of one hundred and fifty florins. 
So master and pupil now returned; and it was resolved that 
Carl Maria should be despatched to Baden-Baden with an in- 
troduction to the Crown Prince of Bavaria, who was then stay- 
ing there, as Munich was to be the next central point of the 
young composer’s further art-journeyings. In his passage 
through Manheim, he was joined by the whole joyous artist 
band, with the charming wife of Gottfried Weber at their head, 
all anxious for a merry holiday in Baden’s sweetest valley. A 
travelling-carriage was packed with guitars, musical scores, and 
bottles of wine; and in this cosey little nest of pleasant humor 
the whole party rolled on to Baden-Baden. 

Baden-Baden was not, at the commencement of the nine- 
teenth century, what it has become within the last fifty years, — 
a splendid, whirling, masquerading Parisian casino. The won- 
drous natural beauties of its situation could then be enjoyed by 
all in purity and peace. It was more frequented by Germans 
of all ranks in society than by the modern invading host 
of foreigners. So full was it, however, when the Manheim 
party arrived, that with difficulty roofs could be found under 
which they could rest their travel-weary heads. The lodging 
of many was but humble; but the days at Baden-Baden were 
free and happy ones, — brief, however; for the friends soon 
parted. Carl Maria was left alone to his fate; and now his 
“mocking genius,” as he expressed it in a letter to Giinsbacher, 
“had smiled too long not to wish to play some confounded 
prank.” His journeys and excursions had cost him far more 
money than he could well afford; and a concert alone could 
repair the loss. He had great hopes in the patronage of the 
Crown Prince of Bavaria, to whom he had given Vogler’s 
letter, and who had welcomed him most kindly. The prom- 
ised arrival of the tenor Berger from Manheim, with all the 
necessary music, was anxiously awaited; but neither tenor nor 
music came. Not even a piano such as an artist could play 





LOUIS OF BAVARIA. 129 


upon could be found in all the place. Public report spoke 
of a famous instrument at Rastadt. Carl Maria hurried over 
to that neighboring fortress-town ; but in vain: the owner of the 
precious prize was absent on a journey. The departure of the 
Crown Prince could no longer be delayed: so poor Carl Maria 
bowed his head to his “ mocking genius;” and the desired con- 
cert was given up in despair. But, even in the midst of these 
perplexities, the young artist had not only enjoyed the society 
of many old friends, but had made acquaintance with many 
men of distinction and influence; among others, the celebrated 
poet Tieck, and the famous publisher Cotta, who begged young 
Weber for contributions from his pen in the “ Morgenblatt.” 
The chief friend and associate, however, of his days at Baden- 
Baden, was the Crown Prince of Bavaria, who, as Weber 
writes, wandered whole nights long with him in the lovely 
valley, listening to his serenades. 

The Crown Prince, afterwards King Louis of Bavaria, known 
to the world as the remodeller of his capital, the brilliant mod- 
ern Athens of Germany in his day, and enrolled in the annals 
of German history as one of the greatest prince-patrons of all 
talent, was a worshipper of Art in every branch. - He was no 
mean poet himself, and he had an artist’s soul. No one knew 
better than himself the influence upon the cultivation and 
progress of a people to be derived from the intercourse with 
artists. He opened his heart to them willingly. Carl Maria, 
then, in his usual seductive, jovial, straightforward way, felt 
himself happy and at home in the company of the prince, with 


_whom he could associate, as artist with artist, in sympathy and 


kindred spirit. 

Meanwhile, however, finances called urgently for immediate 
help. So again he set out on another journey, of which 
Frankfort was to be the principal destination. His “ Abu 
Hassan,” upon which he was now writing diligently, and which 
was completed in the November of the same year, was to ac- 
company him as his chief occupation and his solace. In 
Darmstadt he lingered for a while. Influential friends at the 

9 


130 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


little court had given him hopes that he might at last be per- 
mitted to play before the ‘Grand Duke, who as yet had never 
smiled upon him with especial favor, and thus win over that 
really sincere patron of all true Art. But the intention fell to 
the ground. The Abbé Vogler had visibly sunk in the grand 
ducal graces: his pride was hurt; and he refused to stir. “If 
I were he,” wrote Carl Maria to Gottfried Weber, “I would no 
longer remain in a position in which it was made clear to me 
that I was so little wanted; but he seems used to neglect, and 
goes on vegetating.” So Carl Maria gave a hug to “ the little 
bear” (Meyerbeer), who, as he wrote in the same characteris- 
tic letter to his friend, “has got your sonata in his paws, and 
is sucking all the honey out of it,” and again left Darmstadt, 
where he had never felt himself at home; and where, as he 
himself expressed it, “no feeling would expand, and no fresh 
fountain of idea flow.” And so on again to Manheim and to 
Heidelberg. At the latter place, another concert was crowned 
with success, —the important success of money to the artist’s 
pocket, —and gave him what was even still more worth to his 
kind heart, the happy feeling, as he wrote to Ginsbacher, that 
he had “friends whose dear affection and respect outweighed 
whole years of sorrow and distress.” 

On the 26th of August, Carl Maria was again in Frankfort. 
At last, his “ Sylvana” was to be put into rehearsal. Marga- 
rethe Lang, since his last visit, had been secured for the 
Frankfort opera. She had appeared in Cherubini’s “ Lo- 
doiska ” and had won all hearts by her grace, her talent as an 
actress, and, above all, by the thoroughly dramatic feeling 
of her style of singing. It might have been presumed that she 
had a sufficiently strong sentiment for her young old friend 
still lingering in her heart to have used her rising influence on 
_the Frankfort boards in the interests of his opera; but when Carl 
Maria besought her to undertake the part of a “ Mechtilde,” 
written wholly in accordance with her own whims and fancies, 
Mademoiselle Gretchen was tricky: she most positively re- 
fused. Weber visited her, however; went with her to rehear- 


- + 
| ee ee 





CAROLINE BRANDT AS SYLVANA. 131 


sal, and by the side of this being, to whom his young, warm 
heart had sacrificed so great a portion of his past repute, lis- 
tened to the first strains of this work, from which he hoped so 
much for his future fame. That new fame was budding as the 
old love withered. 

The part of “ Sylvana,” the dumb girl, was naturally given to 
the member of the company who could combine consummate 
talent as an actress, and grace in pantomimic delineation, with 
the requisite gifts as a singer. And who was this ? — who but 
the same little charming, laughing Caroline Brandt whom he 
had before admired at the concert? She had a marvellous 
combination of qualities for the stage. Her grace of move- 
ment, joined to her sylph-like figure and her little foot, made 
men regret she was not a dancer; whilst her pretty drollery, 
her simple-minded dash of manner, and her sweet natural 
coquetry, excited the ‘desire to see her talent confined to the 
dramatic stage alone. But then her highly-sympathetic, ad- 
mirably-trained soprano voice was so remarkable, that it would 
have been a sin had she not been an opera-singer. Caroline 
-Brandt’s peculiar charm of style was such, that she may be 
said to have created for herself an entirely new conception of 
the manner ,in which the parts of young sentimental ladies, 
ingénues, and boys, were to be represented : so much there lay 
in that mixture of spirit and yet modesty, of naturalness and 
yet grace, which was wholly her own. The rehearsals brought 
Carl Maria in contact with this highly-interesting young artist. 
From her charms as a woman, he at first received no impres- 
sion: his heart, perhaps, still listened to the last faint echoes 
of a love whose song was ended; but he recognized at once 
her talent, and was enchanted with the promise of her “ Syl- 
vana.” 

The truest zeal to serve the young composer, and do honor 
to his composition, animated the whole orchestra as well as 
opera-troop of the Frankfort Theatre. All were prepossessed 
in his favor, — as well by his amiable, gentlemanly, conciliatory 
manners, as by his tact, and thorough practical knowledge of 


132 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


the stage. Madame Schonberger, the prima donna, who had 
undertaken the character of “ Mechtilde,” was enrolled, heart 
and soul, on Carl Maria’s side. The rehearsals were eminently 
satisfactory ; the ensemble was good ; and every thing promised 
a most successful result ; when suddenly a dark cloud appeared 
upon the composer’s bright firmament of hope. This cloud 
was the balloon of the celebrated Madame Blanchard. Bal- 
loon-ascents in those days were extraordinary events, which, 
whenever they took place, were sure to absorb all the interest 
of the public far more than the first representation of the best 
opera by the most celebrated composer. And how was a young 
beginner to struggle against such far superior attractions ? As 
poor Carl Maria’s evil genius would have it, Madame Blan- 
chard’s ascent was advertised for Sunday the 17th of Septem- 
ber, the very day when “ Sylvana” was to be produced. The 
excitement in the town was tremendous; the name of the 
stout female aeronaut was in every mouth; tickets to see 
the show were fought for at the ticket-office; the bailoon was 
the lion of the day. Vainly was the hour of performance 
changed: the great counter-attraction carried off the victory. 
Poor “Sylvana” found but few followers; and the unlucky 
composer’s name and fame were crushed by those of the 
mighty Madame Blanchard. Vainly had all Carl Maria’s 
eager friends streamed over from Manheim, Heidelberg, and 
Darmstadt, with Volger and young Meyerbeer amongst the 
number, to be first in the theatre, and give their support to the 
young composer. ‘The attention of the audience was disturbed : 
amidst the general whispering and chattering over the great 
event of the day many a beauty was lost. The very singers 
themselves were pre-occupied; and, far from being up to the 
mark, the opera went far less steadily than at the last general 
rehearsal. 

The blow to the poor young composer was indeed a hard 
one. Nevertheless, the opera pleased unquestionably. Several 
pieces were greatly applauded; the song for Krips, the bright- 
est gem of the opera, was encored; the composer was loudly 


PRODUCTION OF SYLVANA. 133 


called for at the end. Carl Maria drew back from the accla- 
mation, anxious, ashamed, afraid; but Caroline Brandt took 
his unwilling hand, and dragged him before the curtain. 
Little did the youth then know that the hand which clasped 
his was one day to be his own for life; that from that hand 
he was destined to receive his life’s greatest happiness. 

Carl Maria’s remuneration for his opera amounted to no 
more than a hundred florins; but, in his condition of pressing 
want, that sum appeared to him a treasure. Be it said to his 
credit, that he sent away the money to clear off some of his 
heaviest debts at Stuttgart; and again, as he said, he had 
“nothing but a little talent left in the cupboard.” The young 
man’s scant mention of the result of his opera in a letter to 
Gottfried Weber is characteristic enough. “‘Sylvana’ has cer- 
tainly pleased,” he writes, “and, I presume, has made a 
remarkable impression; inasmuch as people say that it is not 
stolen from Wenzel Miiller, nor, as far as they know, from any- 
body else.” 

Once the excitement and anxieties of the production of 
“ Sylvana” over, Carl Maria returned to work seriously on 
new compositions of weight, at Darmstadt. He worked 
stoutly also, although dull old Darmstadt grew less and less 
congenial to his heart. Giinsbacher was gone to Prague 
to resume his position as man of business in the house 
of Count Firmian ; and Carl Maria’s spirits began to fail him. 
“The present condition of my affairs does not allow me to, 
stir,’ he wrote to his now absent friend Ginsbacher; “but | 
feel that things would go better with me could — leave this 
jeathern old town.” Even in his sadness, however, the youth’s 
innate joviality of humor cannot be suppressed. “ Our ugly 
creature of a maid,” he writes in conclusion, “is actually 
going to be married; to a respectable clerk, too, who is said 
to be fond of his bottle, but otherwise is doubtless a most 
worthy fellow. The little bear writes canzonets and psalms ; 
the old gentleman ” (Vogler) “ consumes enormous quantities 
of snuff; Mariane snivels; and Therese sings as out of tune as 


134 WEBER'S EARLY YEARS. 


ever. The family is increased by an abominable black poodle, . 
which Beer’s servant is always thrashing, and his master 
always hugging. And here you have a full and correct account 
of the entire household.” In a letter, too, of the same period, 
written to congratulate Gottfried Weber on the birth of a 
child, his buoyant humor goes hand in hand with his unwilling 
melancholy. “Iam almost sorry it is a boy,” he writes, after 
a few sweet words of heartfelt congratulation: “we shall 
have too many composers of the name of Weber. Of course, 
the fellow will be a composer: that is a settled thing. I have 
no doubt you have already been teaching the babe thorough- 
bass; and harmony, of course, he has learned before he was 
born. I should like to see you in all your paternal glories; 
but, alas! no such luck lies before me. Poor devil as I am, I 
must live on the mere fancy.... Just now, you must be 
your dear wife’s alone. But try and think sometimes of one 
poor orphaned Weber far away. Let me pause a bit: I am 
getting weak.” 

Carl Maria was roused, however, out of his melancholy train 
of thought in Darmstadt by letters from Frankfort, which 
assured him that the public was anxious to see the composer 
of “Sylvana,” and hear him play; and that, consequently, a 
concert given by him there would be sure to be highly re- 
munerative. The first production of any new composition on 
the occasion, he was told, would flatter the vanity of the rich 
Frankfort traders. So he finished off at once his piano con- 
certo, and started for Frankfort, full of the brightest hopes ; 
taking Offenbach on his way, in order to leave the improvised 
sonatas in the hands of André, the publisher. ° 

Carl Maria was kindly received by the influential publisher, 
who, during his visit, took him, as an especial favor shown to 
few, to a certain cabinet, opened it with care, and, taking out a 
written music-score, placed it with solemn reverence in the 
young composer’s hands. “ What do you mean?” asked 
Weber, astonished: “what am I to do with this pale copy of 
one of Mozart’s sonatas ? for such it seems to be.” — “It is na 


THE FRENCH AT FRANKFORT. 135 


copy,” exclaimed the publisher: “it is written by the own 
hand of the immortal man. I have many of his scores.” An 
electric blow ran through the whole of Carl Maria’s frame. 
He laid the score with awe upon the table, fell on his knees, 
touched the sacred pages with his lips and forehead, and then 
gave them back with streaming eyes to André, stammering 
forth the words, “ How happy is the paper which his hands 
have touched!” % 

Every preparation had been made for the important con- 
cert; all promised a successful result: and poor, Carl Maria’s 
needs were urgent. Full of the most joyous hopes, he arrived 
at Frankfort on the 20th October, and, to his consternation, 
found the whole town in a state of excitement to which that 
caused by Madame Blanchard’s balloon-ascent was mere 
child’s-play. This time it was no less a personage than the 
Emperor Napoleon, who, with his all-powerful hand, had 
played the poor youth this scurvy trick. A decree issued’ 
from Fontainebleau on the 12th September, 1810, had ordained 
that fresh and stringent measures should be taken to support 
the harsh system of the Continental blockade. The strict pro- 
hibition against importing English manufactures was no longer 
to be sufficient.. Orders were issued that all English wares, 
wherever discovered, should be immediately seized and de- 
stroyed, without any compensation to the owners. The whole 
trading-town of Frankfort was in a state of grim uproar. It 
was patent enough that this reckless measure could never be 
enforced without brutal compulsion by the hands of the mili- 
tary. Frankfort was full of English wares. The ery of indig- 
nation on every side was loud; and it was clear that all possible 
opposition would be offered to the execution of the abhorred 
edict. On the very day when Weber’s concert was to have 
been given, the troops marched into the town. Shutters were 
smashed, doors broken open, warehouses ransacked. Through- 
out all Frankfort, the only sounds heard were the crashing of 
chests and barrels, the angry lamentations of the despoiled, 
and the laughter, shrieks, and yells of the French soldiers, who 


136 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS, 


danced in insolent triumph round the fires blazing in every 
street to consume the costly silks, cotton stuffs, and pieces of 
clothing, — barring such as the troops themselves carried off 
as booty,—the precious spices, and the teas. Poor Carl 
Maria’s concert was smashed in the general destruction. In a 
very few days, he turned his back upon the doomed city, and 
shook the dust off his feet in sorrow, anger, and disgust. But, 
everywhere he went, his evil star was still in the ascendent. 
On visiting his publisher André, at Offenbach, on his journey 
back from delusive Frankfort, he had the mortification of get- 
ting his own sonatas returned upon his hands. “ The fellow 
actually told me,” he wrote to Gottfried Weber, “they were 
fair too good, and must be made more commonplace for sale. 
I declared most positively that I could not write trash, and 
that I would not; and so we parted in the sulks.” And so 
came Carl Maria back again to his uncongenial home in 
Darmstadt, a still poorer and a sadder man. But Darmstadt 
was speedily unendurable. There was no merry Ginsbacher 
to cheer his flagging spirits now. Hard-working, indefatigable 
young Meyerbeer was far too diligently employed to afford him 
much companionship. Delighted he was, then, to seize the 
occasion of an invitation from Gottfried Weber to come over to 
Manheim, and aid him in the arrangement of a concert to be 
given in honor of the amiable and universally-beloved heredi- 
tary grand duchess, Stephanie of Baden. Besides, a project 
was just then being matured, for the furtherance of which the 
direct and active co-operation of the two friends — Gottfried 
and Carl Maria— was considered indispensable. November 
saw the young composer once more in Manheim. 

The project was the final foundation of a strictly-organized 
literary co-operation among all the young worshippers of Art, 
united in such firm bonds of friendship at Manheim or Darm- 
stadt. It is a remarkable circumstance in the annals of Art, 
that five young men should have been thus collected, all of 
whom were not only gifted with rare talent as musicians, but 
able, at the same time, to give expression to their highly-culti- 


THE SECRET HARMONIC SOCIETY. 137 


vated thoughts in a masterly manner with their pens. Musi- 
eal criticism was, generally speaking, in far from a healthy 
state throughout Germany; and it had long since been re- 
solved that a secret society should be founded among these 
gifted young men, for the purpose of giving a sound and 
worthy direction to the musical cultivation of the day, by a 
series of articles of their own. The time was now come when 
this purpose might be put into practical execution ; and, under 
Weber’s inspiring direction, all now combined to establish that 
“ Harmonic Society ” to which allusion has already been made. 
The aim of the young men was to criticise, as well as to pro- 
duce; to speak out in the truest interests of Art, as well as to 
practise. They were alike animated by the resolution to ad- 
vance all that was honorable, true, and praiseworthy, without 
prejudice, as without selfishness. 

The statutes of this society were drawn up by Carl Maria’s 
hand; and their clear, practical, honorable provisions speak 
volumes for the young artist’s high sense of duty, as well as 
for his rare talent for organization. This club, the workings 
of which were to be kept strictly secret, was to consist of men 
alone who were alike composers and literati, and whose honor- 
able characters were proved and known to each other. One 
of the chief purposes of the society was to bring forward gen- 
uine young talent, wherever it might be found, and at the 
same time to warn the world of all that was false or bad in 
Art, however much supported it might be for unworthy motives 
by the critical authorities of the day. Themselves and each 
other the members of the society were never to consider, ex- 
cept in as far as brotherly assistance might be given in the 
way of protection from injustice and from envy. Pseudonymes 
were to be assumed by each of the members as signatures to 
their literary productions : Carl Maria took that of “ Melos;” 
Gottfried Weber, that of “ Giusto;’’ Alexander von Dusch, that 
of “ Unknown Man ;” Meyerbeer, that of “ Philodikaios ;” and 
Giinsbacher, that -of “ Triole.” All set to work on this new 
scheme for forwarding the interests of Art; but the zeal of 


138 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


most grew cool, when the chances of life dispersed them 
through the world. Carl Maria held on the last, following up 
the provisions of this admirably-constituted society until it 
was at length tacitly dissolved. 

It was Gottfried Weber’s most ardent desire to see his young 
friend, Carl Maria, so attached to Manheim, in some way or 
other, that he might be induced to remain wholly there. With 
this hope, he was resolved that every thing should be done at 
the concert given in honor of the hereditary Grand Duchess 
Stephanie, for which he summoned the young composer, to 
place him in a prominent and distinguished position. He was 
to sit at the piano, immediately opposite the amiable princess ; 
he was to play several of his most favorite compositions. 
Among other pieces, Carl Maria executed his famous piano 
concerto for the first time in its entirety. The princess was 
enchanted ; and, contrary to all usual etiquette, on the termi- 
nation of the concert, she advanced, accompanied by her Ober- 
hofmeisterinn, Countéss Walsch, to greet the young man, and 
said that she had heard so much from her cousin Ludwig of 
Bavaria, of his beautiful singing to the guitar, that she should 
feel personally obliged if he would allow her, also, the chance 
of enjoying so great a pleasure. A guitar was fetched; and, 
standing in the midst of a small circle of the court-party, Carl 
Maria sung some of his most pathetic and some of his spright- 
liest songs. The princess, now with tears in her eyes, now 
with laughter on her lips, forgot all, to linger on, and hear 
more and yet still more. When at last, after a long conversa- 
tion with Carl Maria, she retired, all flocked around him with 
congratulations; and when the chamberlain of the princess 
returned to ask, by her command, upon what conditions young 
Weber could be induced to remain in Manheim, Gotttried fell 
upon his friend’s neck with tears of joy, and exclaimed, “ Now 
you are won to us for ever!” But Carl Maria stood alone, un- 
moved. “No,” he said, shaking his head with a bitter smile: 
“T know the influence of my evil star. It will come to noth. 
ing. Such happiness were won too lightly.” 


AGAIN A STROLLER. 139 


There is no doubt that Weber’s talents might have been ad- 
mirably employed at Manheim. It had long been the wish of 
everybody that the opera conductor, Peter Ritter, should be 
pensioned off. He was considered to have grown lazy, and 
neglectful of his duties. It was evidently the desire of the 
hereditary grand duchess to obtain this position for her young 
protégé. Should that fail, she trusted to retain him in her 
own service. Frequent conferences were held, in consequence, 
between her chamberlain and Carl Maria. She herself’ invited 
the young composer continually to her palace to sing or play 
with her. Spite his presentiment, the young man could not 
but be buoyed up by hope. Some of his happiest bits in “ Abu 
Hassan” were composed at this period. Merry songs were 


translated by him from the Italian. Another successful con- 
4 


‘cert at Manheim animated still more his renovated spirits‘ all 


was beginning once more to shine on him with brightness. 

But Carl Maria was right. His “evil star” maintained its 
sway. One morning, at the close of the year, Herr von Ber- 
stett, the chamberlain of the hereditary grand duchess, en- 
tered his room. He had to announce with the deepest regret, 
from the princess, that all her hopes were over. It was found 
impossible to remove Ritter, so as to give young Weber the 
post of conductor; and the state of the princess’s own treasury 
forbade her to undertake a charge which would have attached 
him to her own small court. After his long and expensive 
stay, such was his New Year’s gift to start him in the coming 
year of 1811. 

This last kick, which Carl Maria received as Fate’s football, 
drove him straight to a resolve which had as yet appeared but 
dim and distant to him. He would wander forth again, the 
strolling “ art-peddler,” and seek his fortune in the world. 


CHAPTER X. 


ON THE WORLD. 


Ir must be confessed that it was not purely artistic reasons 
alone which urged the young composer to hasten his projected 
journey at the commencement of the year 1811. There were 
other far less esthetical motives for its speedy accomplishment. 
His resources were so completely exhausted for the moment, 
that in order to pay his share of a little country excursion 
with his friends, from which he could not well absent himself, 
he was obliged secretly to part with his last new pair of nether 
garments. This distressing state of things was principally 
caused by the hinderances thrown in the way of a second con- 
cert in Manheim, which his friends had arranged for him, and 
from which he expected a sure remunerative return. 

There can be no doubt that it was entirely through the 
underhand intrigues of Capellmeister Ritter, who, after the 
late occurrences, bore a bitter grudge against the young man, 
that this cruel disappointment was caused. The entire orches- 
tra of the Manheim Theatre, hitherto so kindly disposed to the 
young composer, refused to take part in the projected concert. 
The insult fell even more heavily on poor Carl Maria’s heart 
than the pecuniary disappointment. It may be that the gen- 
tlemen of the orchestra, who had it pretty much their own way 
under their indolent conductor, had looked with dire apprehen- 
sion on the possible appointment of a young man full of fire 

140 


QUARREL WITH THE MANHEIM OPERA. 141 


and zeal; more probably there had been considerable pressure 
from, above. The reason given was, that, by one of the by- 
laws of the theatre, the orchestra was forbidden to play for any 
stranger during the course of their own winter concerts. This 
pretext had all the appearance of being reasonable enough. 
But a few days afterwards, on the arrival of two wandering 
artists, the whole band was permitted to play at their concert. 


‘Again and again the same occurred. Carl Maria was wounded 


to the quick. He made a great mistake, however, by publish- 
ing in the “ Leipsiger Allgemeine Musikzeitung,” a severe arti- 
cle against the Manheim orchestra and its conductor, in which _ 
he announced it to be “his bounden duty to expose before the 
public, and to the warning of other artists, proceedings so arbi- 
trary and so shuffling.” By this indiscreet publication, Carl 


Maria created an irreparable breach between himself and the 


whole band of Manheim artists. Any artistic career in the 
town for which he cherished so much affection was thus closed 
to him entirely. Nothing remained for him but to go. 

It was a sad biow for Carl Maria to bid farewell to friends 
from whom he was probably to be parted for long time, and 
whose happy collaboration with him might now, perhaps, cease 
forever; from those who had given the homeless young artist 
an asylum and a home; from those, above all, in whose worthy 
society, as he felt in his inmost heart, he had received a re- 
generation of his whole being. No less sad was the parting to 
all those who loved the youth so well. With every individual 
friend, in the circle of every family, the same melancholy scene 
of leave-taking was renewed, until the poor young fellow’s 
heart nich broke. On the eve immediately preceding his de- 
parture, he sat in Dusch’s room, with sunken head and full 
eyes, at the piano, and extemporized that exquisitely pathetic 
song, “ The Artist’s Farewell,” which, with other words, was 
afterwards known to the world, and found sympathy in every 
heart. 

Tt was necessary first to return to the detested Darmstadt. 
But here, much to Carl Maria’s surprise, the first light began 


142 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


to dawn through the dark cloud around him. His operetta of 
“ Abu Hassan” was now fully finished. By Vogler’s advice, he 
was induced to dedicate this work to the Grand Duke. “I 
have dressed up the fellow,” he wrote to Gottfried Weber, “in 
smart red binding, and sent him, with the due dedication, te 
the Grand Duke. Who knows what he will say to it? Perhaps 
if he is in good humor, ‘ Musje, je tiens bocup de ce.” Whether 
the Grand Duke actually said as much, in bis usual bad French, 
must remain unknown. Something of the kind he probably 
did say; tor the ice at’last was broken. A grand-ducal auto- 
graph speedily assured the young composer of the entire 
grand-ducal satisfaction; a purse containing forty golden 
Carolines from the grand-ducal treasury was, perhaps, at that 
moment, an even more welcome testimonial. Those bright 
pieces of gold were indeed dazzling rays of light. Moreover, 
as a mark of especial grace and favor, Weber was offered a 
concert for his own benefit, which Grand Duke and Duchess 
both promised to honor with their august presence. Surprise 
upon surprise! Carl Maria set to work with delight upon the 
preparations for his concert, which was fixed for the 6th of 
February. The Grand Duke took no less than a hundred and 
twenty tickets. What could all Darmstadt do but follow the 
grand-ducal example with enthusiastic loyalty. The affluence 
to Weber’s concert was tremendous. A new duet, composed 
by him for the occasion, —a duet written, as he himself ex- 
pressed in a letter to Gottfried Weber, “in such a confound- 
edly Italian style, that it might pass for one of Farinelli’s,— 
was sung by the Darmstadt prima donna, Madame Schoénber- 
ger, and the daughter of the musical conductor, Mangold, a fine 
contralto. ‘The Grand Duke himself led the way in the ap- 
plause : the success of this new production was immense. The 
duet had to be repeated. The Grand Duke congratulated the 
young composer with his own august mouth; gave him then 
and there a theme upon which he desired variations to be writ- 
ten, and suggested that this new piece should be dedicated to 
the Grand Duchess. All, then, was honor and glory in this 


- 
q 





GRAND-DUCAL FAVORS. 143 


lucky concert, — not barren either; for it left a clear profit of 


’ two hundred florins. 


The public had left the concert-room. Carl Maria remained, 
lost in not unpleasing thoughts. On looking up, he saw two 
forms still in the hall. Before him stood, to his delight, his 
two friends, Dusch and Gottfried Weber, from whom he 
thought he had taken a “long, long farewell.” The good 
souls had not been able to resist the yearning to be present 
at his concert. For a short time that four-leafed blossom 
of art was to bloom again in Darmstadt; Gottfried Weber, 
Dusch, Meyerbeer, and Carl Maria lived again, for a brief 
space, that true artist’s life of joyous humor, rich interchange 
of feeling and sympathy in Art, which they had led in the 
happy summer of 1810. But on the 10th February, friends 
Gottfried and Alexander were constrained to return to their 
homes; and on the 12th “the little bear” trotted onwards, 
likewise, on his path of life. Carl Maria was once more alone. 
“Shall I ever again find in the world friends so dear and 
men so true?” were the despairing words inscribed in his 
diary of that date. Sixteen years later, only shortly before. 
his death, he wrote down on the same page a “ No!” 

Carl Maria would have departed on his way at once. One 
circumstance detained him for a while. In the first flush of the 
young composer’s favor at court, mention had been made of 
his permanent appointment as Grand-Ducal Musical Director. 
But, on second thouchts, the Grand Duke, like Ritter at 
Magheim, seemed to fear the energy and talent. of a spirited 
young man at the head of an opera which he himself was 
accustomed to direct. The project fell to the ground; and 
not, perhaps, to the great disappointment of Carl Maria, who 
could scarcely have entertained much pleasurable feeling in 
the expectation of a permanent residence in so uncongenial a 
town. His feeling in this respect he expressed in an article 
upon “ Artistic Life in Darmstadt,” published in the “ Morgen- 
blatt,” in which the following passage occurs : “ In spite of every 
encouragement on the part of a prince, so full of sincere love 


144 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


and zeal for musical art as is the Grand Duke, and his own 
excellent example, in Darmstadt there is little to be found of 
that true feeling for music which makes the union of small 
circles for its study and exercise an indispensable necessity : 
music with the Darmstadters is only a sort of loyal duty, to be 
shown for the sake of earning favor with the sovereign.” 

The day for his departure at last arrived. He said farewell 
to his gray-headed and much-respected old master, Vogler, 
with deep emotion; whilst the old gentleman, on the other 
hand, with all his own feelings engaged upon the never-ending 
rehearsals of his “ Samori,” the words of which Carl Maria had 
been greatly improving at his desire, parted from his pupil 
with but little thought or care. Fortified with a mass of 
letters of introduction, which the grand-ducal couple had 
lavishly showered on him, Carl Maria left Darmstadt on the 
14th February, to begin that great artistic journey, which was 
intended to include no fewer cities of note than Munich, 
Prague, Dresden, Berlin, Copenhagen, and Petersburg. He 
first took his way, however, over Frankfort to the little univer- 
sity of Giessen. : 

‘The young artist’s first start was not made under the 
pleasantest auspices. “I have been grievously worried by 
the police,’ he wrote to Gottfried Weber. When I went 
for permission to give my concert, I was treated and examined 
like a vagabond. But I let out in good style, utterly con- 
founded them, and then went and got a permission from. Gen. 
Wittgenstein.” The young artist, however, was always sure 
to find good fortune awaiting him among the student-youth of 
a university. They already knew and loved his catching Ger- 
man melodies. His reception in Giessen was such, that, as yet 
all unused to fame, he was almost overpowered by it. After 
playing in a few private circles, his reputation as an eminent 
pianist spread like wildfire through the little town; never, per- 
haps, in his greatest time did he meet with more universal 
admiration than that which, all at once, now burst upon him. 
So great was the curiosity excited, so overpowering the crowd 


STERKEL THE COMPOSER. 146 


which flocked around him, so startling the marks of homage 
and reverence lavished on him, that he began to grow weary 
of what he called his “ undeserved honors.” The very porters 
who carried his piano-forte to the concert-room and back 
refused all remuneration after the performance. They were 
already repaid by the delight of hearing him, they said. ‘The 
concert was one of the most brilliant Giessen had ever wit- 
nessed; and it put some eighty-one florins more into Carl 
Maria’s purse. ; 

It is characteristic of the young man’s peculiar temperament, 
under these circumstances, that, in spite of all entreaties to 
give another concert, he should have left Giessen on the 23d 
February, and started off for Aschaffenburg, principally for the 
sake of visiting the celebrated old musician, Franz Xayer 
Sterkel, who resided at that place, and was high in favor with 
the good prince-bishop, and whose acquaintance Vogler had 
impressed strongly upon his pupil to make. This once famous 


‘composer appears to have been a singular old gentleman. “ He 


received me in the most absurdly sentimental fashion,” writes 
Weber in his diary, “and preached to me by the hour in the 
same tone.” But in spite of this little off-hand remark, the young 
artist appears to have been singularly struck with the pathetic 
old gentleman ; for he spins out the notice in his journal to a 
very unusual length, and gives the history of the old musician’s 
life, as heard from his own mouth, in considerable detail. The 
story of a struggling artist’s career was probably full of interest 
for one who had struggled himself, and who had still many a 
hard fight before him: and when he was told how, as a boy, 
old Sterkel, in his birth-place, Wurzburg, had followed Vogler 
from church to church to hear him play the organ; had been 
rudely checked in all his musical aspirations by his father; 
had at last obtained a few stealthy and scanty lessons from the 
abbé, who was flattered by the boy’s admiration; had with 
many a miseiving written six sonatas, which, taken by a friend 
to Paris, were there sold for fifty louis-d’ors; and had heard 
from Vogler, on playing his sonatas, the proud words, “ My 


146 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


boy, had I your flow of melody and you my science, we were 
both great men,”—no doubt the young artist felt his heart 
warm towards the old man, whose difficult career had been 
achieved, and was greatly impressed by him, whatever his sin- 
gularities. 

Thence on to Wurzburg to visit Joseph Frohlich, one of the 
greatest musical professors of his time, whose energy had made 
of that university a thoroughly national school of music, by the 
establishment of the then famous “ Harmonie-Musik-Verein.” 
By this good and noble-hearted man Carl Maria was received 
with every mark of kindness, and even with affection. But 
his hope of giving a concert before the Archduke Ferdinand, 
Grand Duke of Tuscany and brother of the Emperor of Aus- 
tria, who, at that period, held his court at Wurzburg, and 
whose influence might have been of great advantage to the 
young composer, was completely crushed. In spite of the power- 
ful support given to him by many persons of note about the 
palace, who even desired to see the young artist permanently 
attached, the intrigues of the Grand-Ducal Capellmeister Grisi, 
“a humbugging canaille of an Italian,” as Carl Maria wrote, 
who had a dread of any spirited young interloper, carried the 
day against the strugeling artist’s hopeful project. These little- 
nesses, combined with the incessant annoyances they produced, 
were very wearying to the straightforward, enthusiastic nature 
of the young man. “TI am often obliged,” he wrote from Bam- 
berg to Gansbacher, “to call all my reason to my aid, in order 
not to lose my temper and throw all up. There is nothing 
more miserable than this running about among strange people, 
strumming to them continually, and feeling that not one in 
thirty takes the slightest real interest.” The scores of “ Syl- 
vana” and “Abu Hassan” were accepted, however, by the 
Grand Duke, and of course grand-ducally remunerated. Wurz- 
burg had thus no great attraction for the young man, — at 
least in an artistic point of view; and yet he lingered on there 
many days longer than he intended. If the truth must be 
told, a charming little adventure, begun at a masked ball, and 





WURZBURG AND BAMBERG. 147 


gradually unravelled under romantic complications on the fol- 
lowing days, had laid hold on the susceptible young artist’s 
heart, and kept him on the spot. 

Tt was not until the end of March that Carl Maria tore him- 
self away, and pursued his wandering course to Bamberg. 
The theatre at that town, under the direction of the talented 
Franz von Holbein, the well-known poet and dramatic author, 
and at the same time actor, was then enjoying a celebrity, 
which was destined to be shortlived, however. Holbein, in a 
very few months, by his profound practical knowledge, as well 
as his fine artistic taste, had raised the establishment, spite of 
the scanty means at his command, to one of the very best theatres 
in Germany; giving thereby another proof of the rich fruits 
which any institute, whatever its nature, may be made to bear, 
when in the hands of a man of tact and feeling combined. 
With Holbein, Carl Maria had been already acquainted in 
Frankfort ; and the young man had thus the best opportunities 
of appreciating the rare qualities of Madame Renner, the 
principal actress. In her he found striking resemblances, in 
style and manner, both to his former heart’s queen, Gretchen 
Lang, and to his seductive little “ Sylvana,” Caroline Brandt. 
The past, and the yet unknown future, both seemed to stir his 
soul to admiration of Madame Renner’s talent. 

With two personages also, who were destined to play a more 
or less important part in his future career, Carl Maria made a 
fleeting acquaintance at Bamberg. He sat one evehing in the 
“ Rose,” sipping his cool Franconian wine, when he fell into con- 
versation with two men, seated at a neighboring table. The one 
was a somewhat savage-looking individual, a certain Hoffman, 
then musical-director, and, at the same time, scene-painter at 
the theatre under Holbein’s management. Young Weber did 
not then foresee that this strange personage was thereafter to 
become one of Germany’s most celebrated authors; that his 
«“ Phantasie-Stiicke nach Callot’s Manier,’ would soon fly 
through the whole land like wild-fire ; that the name of Hoff- 
man would soon be spread far and wide throughout the civil 


148 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


ized world: but the young fellow was, then and there, dazzled’ 
and enchanted with the diabolical flashes of lighting wit, which 
sparkled in unceasing coruscation from the mouth of his sin- 
gular but genial companion. When both, in later years, came 
together on the same field of wild romance, although by differ- 
ent paths, a nearer intimacy, almost friendship, as far as their 
widely contrasting characters would allow, was formed between 
the two artistic natures, and worked influentially on the ten- 
dencies of their reciprocal careers. The other individual was 
of very different nature, —a fair, slim, weakly-looking youth. 
His name was Bader; and he was then rising into notice as 
tenor at the Bamberg Theatre. Weber knew not then that he 
saw before him the man, who, eleven years later, was to em- 
body his own character of Max in “ Der Freischiitz,”’ with 
unsurpassable life, spirit, and grace. 

On the journey over Erlangen to Nuremberg fortune threw 
him once more in the way of the object of his charming little 
adventure at Wurzburg. All favored the pleasant meeting. 
Never, perhaps, had spring dawned in Germany with such 
magic power as in the year 1811. In February every tree 
was green. It was like “ Andalusia in April,” wrote the happy 
young man. The fellow-travellers felt their hearts beat higher 
as they breathed the balmy air. In Nuremberg, however, the 
adventure was destined to end, as it had began, — at a masked 
ball. The fanciful young artist, dressed as a proud cardinal, 
here presented his fair companion with a witty musical parody 
of the Gregorian Celibacy Bull, the hidden meaning of which 
was at once appreciated: and here they parted gayly, if not 
perhaps without a spice of regret, at least without cause for 
repentance. 

In Augsburg, Carl Maria visited his old musical puolisher 
Gombart, and disposed of an Italian canzonette, which le had 
composed at Bamberg, under the title of “Momento capric- 
cioso,” with a further promise of six as yet unwritten sonatas 
and other pieces. But Augsburg was not otherwise propitious 
in a financial sense. “Things look badly for me here,” he wrote 


ARRIVAL AT MUNICH. 149 


to Gottfried Weber. “ Under such circumstances, my stay will 
probably be very brief. Whenever I find that nothing is to be 
done, the Devil himself cannot hold me; money runs con- 
foundedly quick through one’s fingers, when sitting in hotels.” 

So, on the 14th March, Carl Maria arrived at Munich. This 
capital had always been intended as the first central point of 
his great artistic tour, whence he should be able to make flying 
excursions. In Munich, where from the days of Carl Theodor, 
every prince had fostered musical art with considerable fervor, 
he hoped to turn his talents to practical account, add a rich 
store to his already acquired treasures of science, and perhaps 
even have the joy of seeing one or other of his operas repre- 
sented. 

Munich, however, was not yet the celebrated city of modern 
times, in which a new era of German art has dawned. King 
Ludwig was not yet upon the throne of Bavaria. The man 
was still to come, who proved that the greatest destiny of a 
sovereign was not to lead armies to the field; that science and 
art can place a glorious crown upon a prince’s brow; and that, 
at the head of a noble army of artists and men of science, the 
highest honor is to be gained on that weary field, where the 
king has to win his spurs with as much difficulty as the poorest 
peasant child who first takes brush or chisel in his hand. The 
sovereign was not yet there who was to acknowledge the voca- 
tion of the middle classes to rise high in the advance of social 
cultivation ; the sovereign who got rid of his guards to build 
museums, who reduced his army to increase the ranks of the 
intellectual warriors fighting for his own fame, who has won 
for himself a greater glory than that of the greatest heroes of 
all time, —a glory unspotted with. one single drop of blood. 
The days were yet to come when the names of Cornelius, 
Schnorr, Kaulbach, Hess, Schwanenthaler, Stiglmeier, Klenze, 
and the many other mighty ones of Art, were to shed a bril- 
liant halo over the name of Munich, — when magnificent streets, 
churches, museums, palaces, and monuments were to cover the 
dreary wastes around. 


150 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


Max Joseph, however, had already done much to obtain 
the name of Father of his People. He had economized the 
finances of the country, simplified the administration of affairs, 
brought in a new code of laws, made his system of govern- 
ment straightforward and clear to all, and by his able policy, 
spite of all the troubles and misfortunes of the revolutionary 
and imperial wars, considerably strengthened the position of 
Bavaria, and extended its territory. Spite of the demoraliza- 
tion usually attendant on times of strife, moreover, he had con- 
trived to preserve the national character of his good Munichers, 
in the path of honesty and truth, and thus to live in cheerful- 
ness in the midst of a cheerful population. 

It was a stout, honest, solid-minded people, fond of life’s en- 
joyments, loving to sit with sturdy legs under a table covered 
with good food, a good glass of beer in hand, singing a good 
song, and toying with pretty women, never caring to sneer at 
little sensuous excesses, or to carp at little follies with envy 
and malice. As may be surmised, the general tone of morality 
was somewhat lax in Munich. But the people was an excel- 
lent one in its way; far from being depraved or degenerated ; 
simple in its habits, and ignorant of squandering prodigality. 
To be sure, it had no great liking for novelty ; evinced no ten- 
dency for social progress. It clung to its old forms and 
fashions, to its own national costumes on the heads of its wo- 
men, and, above all, to its old religious creed. 

Among such a people it was not to be expected that Art 
should spring up as a spontaneous plant. But it was not one 
to throw a blight upon those flowers of genius which were 
reared by its liberal sovereigns in its gardens. Indeed, its 
sturdy nature was far more likely to provide the solid wood, 
out of which true artists may be hewn, than all the over-fine, 
over-strained, over-critical, would-be “ souls of thought ” which 
North-German civilization pretends to brighten into such ex- 
quisite polish. The artist might find it difficult to achieve 
fame in Munich; but it was easy for him to be beloved, were 
he but an honest fellow, who painted or chiselled or sang in 
right good German spirit. 


ART IN MUNICH. 151 


Thus it was, that, even before Ludwig’s sun had begun te 
shine upon Bavaria, there was a certain measure of artistic life 
in Munich; not amongst the people, but in an atmosphere 
apart and above it. Max Joseph, if no enthusiastic worship- 
per of Art, liked and protected artists; and several artists of 
note were comfortably congregated in a city, where the store of 
pleasure was great, disagreeablenesses were few, envy and 
jealousy almost unknown. Painters of name and fame were in 
great number. The magnificent collections of pictures at 
Schleissheim and Lustheim had been admirably arranged un- 
der Miinnlich’s superintendence; the old town walls had been 
removed by special direction of the king, and new suburbs 
planned; a botanical garden had been laid out; and a new 
and magnificent theatre, which two years later was to be com- 
pleted, was already planned. ; 

But whilst painting, sculpture, and architecture were in act- 
ive exercise and development, fostered as they were, too, by 
the talented Crown Prince, whose personal encouragement was 
of great and effective influence on the artists, music, as far as 
general devotion to the art was concerned, was visibly falling 
more and more, at this period, into a state of retrogression and 
decay. This decline was principally owing to the condition of 
society. A general stagnation of social intercourse was prev- 
alent. This arose, in great measure, from the dearness of all 
colonial products, occasioned by the Continental blockade, 
which rendered hospitality burdensome. But, strange to say, 
the almost entire cessation of private parties, under these cir- 
cumstances, proved of great advantage to the theatre. The 
members of the higher and middling classes had been so long 
accustomed to look upon their evening’s amusement as a ne- 
cessity of daily life, that,in this general restriction of their 
social pleasures, they flocked to the theatre and concert-rooms 
so persistently, that a stranger, ignorant of the real state of 
affairs, might have fancied luxury to be at its height. Beyond 
the diplomatic circle, in which the Russian Minister, Prince 
Bariatinski, distinguished himself by his passion for music, 


152 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


there were but few houses where any attention was paid to 
musical art. Among these few, one of the most remarkable 
was that of Baron von Poissl, the composer, a pupil of Danzi, 
who, at this period, was engaged upon his opera “ Ottaviano 
in Sicilia,” and was afterwards appointed superintendent of 
the theatre. Social intercourse thus flourished chiefly in sub- 
scription societies, and in public places of amusement. Two 
of these societies or clubs, the “ Harmonie” and the “ Muse- 
um,” were of importance to musical artists on account of their 
occasional production of musical entertainments. 

The former club possessed a charming garden for summer 
festivities; and here artists who lived in Munich, or were pass- 
ing through, were invited to perform, without constraint or 
ceremony, in the intervals of play, conversation, dancing and 
supping, and were always sure of finding an audience composed 
of some of the most remarkable personages of the town. In the 
“ Museum ” music was cultivated in less unceremonious form. 
Concerts were frequently given there, under the able direction 
of Friinzel, at which works of pretension and importance were 
produced. It was the accepted fashion also of Munich society 
of all grades to mix together in the beautiful and conveniently 
situated “ English Garden,” not long before laid out with ex- 
quisité taste by the well-known Count Rumford. Parties of 
the court and aristocratic circles, moreover, were continually 
being formed for pleasant little unpretending reunions in the 
public, it might be said “ pot-house,” gardens of Bogenhausen, 
Thalkirchen, Swabingen, and Hesselhohe ; whilst the Lake of 
Starenberg, with its beautiful environs, offered occasions for 
picnic excursions into a region of the loveliest mountain scen- 
ery. The “ Black Eagle” in the town was the general place 
of evening resort, where the little world of artists and profess- 
ors met to moisten their weary throats with excellent Bava- 
rian beer. 

The theatre, which, towards the end of the eighteenth cen- 
tury, had fallen into a complete slough of artistic impotence, 
through the mismanagement and carelessness of its superin- 


THE MUNICH THEATRE. 153 


tendent, old Count Sceau, had been saved from utter degrada- 
tion by the appointment of Babo, the dramatic poet, and author 
of “ Otto von Wittelsbach” and “ Die Stralitzen,” to the man- 
agement. It was entirely owing to the high talents and 
excellent character of this remarkable man, who was materially 
assisted, at the same time, by the athletic, highly-respected, admi- 
rable declaimer, Max Heigel, that the theatre was raised once 
more to its due position as an institute of Art. But even Babo 
had found himself unable to struggle against the fatal tendencies 
of the court superintendent, Count Torring-Seefeld, who cared 
only for pomp and splendor, and dazzling Italian opera. So, 
at the beginning of 1811, he had sent in his resignation; and 
a directing theatre committee had been appointed in his place. 
At the same time, however, a re-action in favor of natural de- 
lineation of character versus the overstrained sentimental bom- 
bast of the popular spectacular pieces of the day had been 
produced in the public mind, by the excellent performances 
of the French company, which had followed in the train of the 
Prince d’Eckmiihl, and had, for some time, played in Munich. 
Moreover, the king had given evidence of his own desire for 
the better interests of his theatre by his express orders, that, in 
the new house, boxes should be especially appointed for the 
clergy, the professors, and the artists. 

The principal musical director was still Peter Winter, the 
celebrated composer of “The Interrupted Sacrifice.” As a 
conductor he had many excellent qualities, although deficient 
in delicacy of ear, precision, and fire; but he had not the 
spirit to stand up against tke false taste and superficial views 
of the foppish Count Seefeld. Winter was little-minded, envi- 
ous, and crotchety. His strange personality has been drawn 
by the composer Louis Spohr in his autobiography, by a few 
characteristic traits which are worthy of quotation. “I was 
frequently with Winter, and was excessively diverted with his 
sineular character, so full of the strangest contradictions. He 
was of colossal build, with the strength of a giant; and yet he 
was as timid as a hare. Although accustomed to burst into 


154 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


intemperate fits of passion on the slightest occasion, he allowed 
himself to be led like a child. His cunning old housekeeper, 
consequently, tyrannized over him frightfully. Thus, for in- 
stance, when she happened to catch him dressing up his little 
dolls for a Christmas-tide manger, — an occupation which was 
his especial delight, and on which he was wont to spend 
hours, — she would fly at him, drag him from his work, and 
angrily rate him with an ‘Are you to be forever at play? Go 
to your piano at once, and finish your air, sir!’” 

The Munich orchestra, under Winter’s conductorship, was 
wholly worthy of the great master, but, like its chief, stiff, un- 
bending, and repelling. It was rich in admirable instrument- 
alists, many of whom were in a position to figure as first-rate 
solo concert-players. When at its full complement it amounted 
to as many as eighty-seven performers. No less able to cope 
with every requirement was the operatic troupe, which consisted 
of excellent artists, all of whom, being employed in singing 
Italian as well as German operas, had plenty of opportunities 
of mastering the advantages of both schools. 

It was under such social and artistic auspices that Carl Ma- 
ria von Weber now returned to Munich, furnished not only 
with letters of introduction from the grand-ducal couple at 
Darmstadt to the Queen of Bavaria, but to other persons 
of distinction and note, among whom the then all-powerful 
minister, Count Montgelas, and the director of public works, 
Wieberking, were the most conspicuous. By the minister Carl 
Maria was most kindly received, and so well served, that, tive 
days after his arrival, —a wonderfully brief space for the work- 
ings of court etiquette, — he was permitted an audience of the 
queen. She conversed with him for a long time, in the most 
amiable and friendly manner, promised him, in the king’s 
name, permission to give concerts in the town, and expressed 
the desire to hear him herself; begging, at the same time, as a 
favor, that she might be the first thus favored. In the house 
of Wieberking he found a home. The good man, who was a 
very original character, and not without a certain amount 


BARMANN. 155 


of mountebank quackery in his profession as architect, was 
just then employed in building the great bridge over the Isar, 
after a new system of construction of his own. Carl Maria, al- 
ways tickled by originality, warmed to the man, and by degrees, 
when he came to give lessons to his daughter Fanny, who had 
an admirable talent for the piano, combined with the true feel- 
ing of an artist, was a constant inmate in his house. His 
modest apartment in the Neuhiiuser Gasse the young composer 
soon began only to use for sleep or pressing work. 

In Wieberking’s house Carl Maria made acquaintance with 
the celebrated clarionet-player Birmann. The masterly exe- 
cution of this artist delighted the youth at once; and, after a 
very short study of his style, he composed for him “The Con- 
certino for Clarionet,’ marked as “ Op. 26,” afterwards so 
frequently played. But Birmann’s bright, genial character 
and sterling worth soon won young Weber’s heart. Carl Maria, 
always ready with his sympathies, attached himself in the 
warmest friendship to this excellent fellow,—a friendship 
which lasted through their lifetimes. In their communion as 
artists, or in long years of separation, never was this friendship 
weakened. With much similarity of character, no two men 
could have been more dissimilar in personal appearance: 
Weber, thin, pale, weakly; Barmann, tall, athletic, with a mag- 
nificently handsome head. Carl Maria would laughingly say 
of the personal advantages of his friend, “ All the choicest tid- 
bits in life are presented to that handsome fellow on a silver 
platter: poor devils like me must beg for the crumbs which fall 
from his magnificence’s table.” 

The brilliant saloons of Prince Bariatinski were soon also 
opened to the talented young composer. Carl Maria was ac- 
eustomed to take great delectation in the etiquette of old 
courtly manners and courtly gallantry, the last remnants of 
which still lingered in the house of the polite Russian minis- 
ter. But there, too, came together all that was choicest in 
learning and in art; and there Carl Maria first found himself 
in presence of the celebrated philosopher Schelling. The 


156 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


youth had studied his works with care, and reverenced him 
with unusual awe. He gazed upon him ndw with strangely- 
bewildering feelings. “To look upon this really great man,” 
he said in his letters, “ was like a dream to me at first.” With 
joyful simplicity he wrote, at a later date, “ Schelling and I are 
such good friends !” 

Whilst gathering good-will and affection on every side, it 
was with Winter alone that Weber could not succeed in estab- 
lishing any friendly relations. The old capellmeister persisted 
in keeping the rising artist at a distance from him, with marked 
repulsiveness and almost unmannerly rudeness. Like others 
before him, no doubt he felt and feared the detrimental influ- 
ence of the budding genius by his side. In spite of a first 
prejudice, which seemed to have been instilled into them, the 
members of the orchestra, who were thrust into the society of 
the jovial and amiable young artist at “The Black Eagle,” 
“The Museum,” or “ The Harmonie,” soon learned to appre- 
ciate him as an artist, to love him as a man. “ The members 
of the orchestra,’ wrote Carl Maria to Gottfried Weber, “are 
mighty grand fellows, and as arrogant as you please; but 
they have taken into their heads to pet me amazingly. That 
envious old Winter has been uncommonly diverting. When I 
first paid him a visit, he took me for a dilettante, and overpow- 
ered me with politeness ; but when, after a day or two, he dis- 
covered how matters stood, he was so abominably rude that all 
the musicians called him a beast. How can a man, who has 
already earned his laurels, so tarnish them, by letting himself 
down in this manner?” In spite of Winter, however, the 
newly-acquired friendship of the entire orchestra, joined to the 
influential exertions of his patrons, smoothed the way to the 
young composer, with unusual expedition, for a concert. Carl 
seemed to have withdrawn its blight- 


>? 


Maria’s malignant “ star’ 
ing rays for the time; and all went well. 

The concert took place on the 8th of April in the court 
theatre. The youth was now already known and talked of; 
and general curiosity was thus excited. The court party had 


ee a A ae 


THE FIRST CONCERT AT MUNICH. 157 


taken fifty tickets; the affluence was great. The young com- 
poser was supported by excellent artists. His own symphony, 
unsteadily played excepting in the allegro, excited no great 
enthusiasm. Nor did his “First Tone,’ the words of which 
were but moderately. declaimed by Kiirzinger, the actor, on 
this occasion, meet with that general applause which greeted it 
on every other. But the trump-cards of the evening were des- 
tined to be played by himself and Birmann, and to win the 
game triumphantly. Weber’s piano-concerto, played by him- 
self, was eminently successful; and the new clarionet con- 
certino, played with marvellous charm, drew down enthusiastic 
applause, and so delighted the king that immediately after the 
concert he gave an order to Carl Maria for two more similar 
compositions for the same instrument. The semi-failure of his 
“ First Tone” Weber took greatly to heart, the more so as he 
had counted on the immense effect of the declamation of his 
newly-acquired friend Heigel, the talented actor and dramatic 
author. Incipient illness prevented his appearance ; that ill- 
ness terminated shortly afterwards in his death. The concert, 
however, brought Weber the sum of four hundred and forty- 
eight florins, and did even more for him by establishing his 
fame as composer and pianist in Munich. 
The young man was soon busily employed. He worked with 
zeal upon the clarionet pieces demanded by the king ; com- 
posed four songs, at the request of Director Frianzel, for a re- 
vival of Kotzebue’s “ Poor. . Minnesinger” at the theatre, — 
where, on their production. two of them were rapturously rede- 
manded, although now forgotten most unjustly by the world, — 
and continued his literary labors by an article in “ The Morgen- 
blatt,’ upon an emendation in the construction of the flute. 
On every side he was in request. _ “ The whole orchestra 
seems possessed by the devil,” he wrote to Gottfried Weber : 
“every man of them wants me to compose a concert-piece for 
his especial instrument. You see that I have tolerably hard 
work on hand; and, consequently, I shall probably remain 
here the whole summer. My earnings are pretty considerable ; 


158 ‘ WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


and another concert, given before my departure, will doubtless 
prove remunerative. There seems a very general feeling here 
that I ought to receive the appointment of Capellmeister; but 
you know what my feelings on that subject are. At all events, 
I have some hopes that my operas may be given here.” 

The hopes thus faintly expressed were destined to find reali- 
zation much sooner than the young composer expected. Some 
unknown influence had evidently been brought to bear upon 
Winter. From gross rudeness to young Weber, he, all at 
once, and at one bound, went over into the most overpowering 
friendliness and politeness. From the great director himself 
Carl Maria suddenly received the intelligence that his “ Abu 
Hassan ” was to be put into immediate rehearsal. 

Under these sunnier influences friends, admirers, and well- 
wishers were sure to spring up around him, with all the expe- 
dition and fecundity of mushrooms. ‘The mothers of hopeful 
daughters began to spend pleasant looks upon him; music- 
loving ladies found it worth their while to throw out seductive 
lures at the pleasant, genial young artist; whilst the rehearsals 
of his “ Abu Hassan” brought him into immediate connection 
with the theatrical company, the young female members of 
which did not see why they should not try for the chance of be- 
coming a Mistress Capellmeister in futuro. The inflammable 
young artist, whose genius needed the fostering warmth of love 
to soar aloft, was soon surrounded by all sorts of seductions. 
Two charming singers were pulling caps for him, and employ- 
ing every trick of coquetry to win his heart; two other adoring 
beauties in society advanced their own individual claims at 
the same time. And Carl Maria, fluttering from one to the 
other, seemed to dream that he might be four men at once, 
each of whom had a right to love a separate object of adora- 
tion. Pleasant hours were those thus passed, but full of pain, 
trouble, torture, in the future. There can be no doubt that the 
existence of the struggling young artist, which had known so 
much privation and so much sorrow, was thus gilded by the 
pleasantest golden dreams, and that the transient brilliancy 


FEMALE FASCINATIONS. 159 


of such a period gave fresh elasticity and powers of productive- 
ness to his genius. Munich was never strict on the score of 
morality ; and there were few who would have cavilled at his 
butterfly life whilst he was sipping sweets at so many beautiful 
blossoms, and flying on eager wing, now with one of his equally 
butterfly singers, now with another, to attractive spots in the 
immediate neighborhood. But the bloom was soon swept away 
from the painted wings of pleasure. Often in his diary were 
now to be found the words, “ All women are alike worthless.” 
Interlined even among the columns of his desultory account- 
book may be found notices scratched down, such as, “ A 
coquets with me, though she knows I am making love to her 
friend.” “B abuses M , tells me horrid stories of her, 
and says I must not go home with her.” “ All are bad alike.” 
And ever and anon come back the letters “A. W. T. N.,” 
which stand for “ Alle Weiber taugen nichts.” 

In all these love-toyings and coquetries, however, Carl Maria 
did not now lose the sense of the advantages to be gained in the 
intercourse with more reputable and less dangerous society. 
In many houses of distinction he was received with friendship 
as well as regard, and found a worthier sphere for artistic in- 
spiration. Nor did his pleasures close his mind to the dictates 
of true artistic interests. During one of his many holiday 
excursions to Nymphenburg, he insisted, spite the evident 
annoyance of his fair companion of the day, in visiting the 
talented acoustic mechanician Kaufmann, who had invented a 
new instrument, which he termed an “ Harmonichord,” and 
which had been produced at court. Weber was delighted with 
the depth of expression and feeling elicited by this invention, 
and in turn so enchanted the inventor’s son, young Kaufmann, 
with his extempore fantasias upon the harmonichord, that the 
young man would not let him go without a promise to compose 
a brilliant piece with orchestral accompaniment, to give full 
advantage to the instrument. Carl Maria seized eagerly on 
the idea: the rich and expressive tones of the instrument in- 
spired him. Under the influence of this excitement, and fear- 











160 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


ing lest the impression might fade, he persisted, in spite of the. 
expostulations and to the disgust of his lovely companion, on 
working out a fresh idea all the way home; nor would he re- 
tire to rest, weary as he was, until he had noted down the 
theme of his new inspiration, with all the instrumental parts. 
The task, however, was a hard one. “I must call all my live- 
liest fancy to my aid,” he wrote to Ginsbacher, “to write for 
an instrument, the tone of which is so singular and strange, so 
as to set it forth to advantage along with other well-known in- 
struments.” The composition, however, was full of melody 
and charm, and was afterwards always used by Kaufmann on 
his tours as his great piece for effect. 

Meanwhile the rehearsals of “ Abu Hassan” had progressed. 
The orchestra was full of zeal for the young composer, and 
played the light, easy music with brilliancy and fire. The first 
representation took place on the 10th of June. Alas! the imp 
of evil, which Carl Maria persisted in calling his “ star,” after 
having forgotten to play him an ill turn on the occasion of his 
concert, seemed resolved to pay the young composer off with 
interest on this far more important occasion, as though he had 
been taken to task by his superior demon for his previous neglect. 
The house was crammed. ‘The overture had been rapturously 
applauded. The charming and spirited duet between Hassan 
and Fatima had commenced, when suddenly burst forth a ery 
of “Fire!” The audience crowded shrieking from the house. 
The curtain fell: all was disorder. It was found to be a false 
alarm. But it was long before quiet could be restored; and 
the general feeling of appreciation for the greatest musical 
beauties was gone for the night. The little opera, however, 
was charmingly sung and played; an admirable precision and 
a sparkling freshness distinguished the efforts of all alike. In 
spite of the disastrous drawback to the pleasure of the even- 
ing, many of the pieces were applauded to the full heart’s con- 
tent of the young composer; and the general expression of 
feeling was all the vainest could have desired. Thus encour- 
aged, his artist zeal longed to be at work again upon operatic 


DESULTORY EMPLOYMENT. 161 


composition. “I am yearning fearfully for an opera-book,” he 
wrote to Giinsbacher. “ Without an opera in hand, I am a 
miserable man!” Yet, strange to say, for ten long years his 
yearning remained unsatisfied, — for ten years, when the first 
dramatic creation of Weber’s genius after his pretty little opera 
of “ Abu Hassan” was destined to be the greatest of all his 
works, “ Der Freischiitz.” 

It may here be mentioned that “ Abu Hassan” was produced 
about the same period in Wiirtemberg, at Ludwigsburg in the 
month of May, at Stuttgart in July. But in the relations in 
which the young composer stood towards the court, it was 
deemed advisable to suppress his name. “Can you fancy a 
more wretched stupid piece of time-serving and truckling,” 
wrote Carl Maria to Gottfried Weber; “and to what purpose? 
Every newspaper will be sure to trumpet the truth.” “In 
Stuttgart I hear Hassan did not please,” he wrote at an after 
date. “ All one: I won’t say I am delighted; but I am not 
yet knocked down and trampled on.” 

While waiting for the much-desired, long-delayed opera- 
book, Carl Maria was never idle now. Songs were composed, 
among others one of exquisite sweetness, “ Maienbliimlein so 
schon,” which to this day has survived the wreck of so many 
other beauties. Critical literary notices were written; such 
as a characteristic and interesting account of the Munich 
opera-troop, and a detailed criticism of the boy Meyerbeer’s 
oratorio of “God and Nature,” which had been just given in 
Berlin, — the latter a sacrifice of truth to friendship, it is to be 
feared, as Carl Maria had never heard the work performed ; 
and, what also had its due weight upon his future career, 
“olden opinions” were won from all around him. A notable 
instance of the respect and affection borne him was given 
at the rehearsal of a concert, at which Biarmann’s clarionet 
concertino was to be repeated. So great was the effect pro- 
duced by it, that the members of the orchestra burst into a 
tumult of applause. One alone dissented, and sulkily mur- 
mured the words, “A mere amateurish production.” The 

ll 


162 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


others were so indignant at this depreciatory remark that they 
determined to kick him out of the orchestra, and, but for the 
young composer’s intervention, would have summarily put the 
threat into execution. 

Warm friends the amiable young artist found in almost all 
who enjoyed the sunshine of his winning smile; and his heart, 
so easily accessible to friendly sympathy, was now, at the same 
period, to be struck by an unexpected grief, an equally unex- 
pected joy. His new friend Max Heigel, the great actor and 
the worthy man, died suddenly. His old friend and true 
mentor, Danzi, returned, almost simultaneously, to Munich. 
For the funeral ceremony of Heigel, Weber composed, at the 
request of the family, a dirge, consisting chiefly of a bass solo 
and quartet, the greater portion of which has been lost. But, 
when all was ready, unexplained hinderances came in the way. 
Winter’s Requiem was given instead; and Weber felt himself 
wounded to the quick. But all annoyance was speedily for- 
gotten. Was not the good Danzi there, into whose heart he 
could pour all his sorrows and all his joys? The presence of 
the man, who, spite the difference in years, sympathized with 
him so closely, who loved him for all his virtues, and would so 
gladly have excused all his follies, shed one unremitting sun- 
shine upon Carl Maria’s life during his stayin Munich. With 
him and Herr von Poissl, Danzi’s former pupil, Weber gave 
himself up to the true charms of artistic life. Nature and 
freedom were enjoyed on lake or mountain side; bowls, pistol- 
shooting, riding, and sailing parties were the amusements of 
the hour; Art was studied in the theatre, or in its joint exercise 
between the three. One of the old Manheim games, “ Com- 
position for a wager,” was resumed at Wieberking’s house, 
where, on one occasion, a canzonette was given the three com- 
posers by the pretty daughter on the words, “Son troppo 
innocente nell’ arte d’ amar,” and the victory won by Danzi 
by two bars. Again Carl Maria found heart to write to Danzi 
on special occasions those humorous letters in verse, which 
speak so characteristically of his cleverness, as well as his 


AN OFFER REJECTED. 163 


joviality. But even in this pleasant intercourse, other dear 
friends were not forgotten. About the same period he wrote, 
in the fulness of his affectionate heart, to Gottfried Weber, 
“ Am I content, you ask? I suppose every man ought: to be, 
who has not precisely a knife at his throat.. But I have found 
no soul to which to cling like yours; no hours such as we have 
passed together ; none of that exuberance of heart’s joy, which 
makes me take guitar in hand, and sing spite of myself.” 

Meanwhile Carl Maria had not been forgotten by his old 
Manheim friend. Gottfried Weber had received a commission 
to find an able capellmeister for Wiesbaden, and had at once 
written off to Munich, full of joy, to propose the appointment 
to the young composer, whom he would have so gladly en- 
chained in his immediate neighborhood. A lengthy corre- 
spondence ensued between the two. But the Wiesbaden 
Theatre, although projected, was not yet built. Neither the 
proposed arrangements nor salary could be made to appear 
advantageous to Carl Maria; and, spite of his own earnest 
desire to be near his dearest friends, he rejected the offer, and 
relinquished the new idea, not without some natural feelings 
of regret. 

Summer was by this time far advanced. Carl Maria was 
now only occupied with critical notices, the principal of which 
were upon Dalayrac’s “ Macdonald,” Mehul’s “Joseph,” and 
Bernhard Weber’s “ Deodata.” The last of these composers 
Weber, for some unknown reason, cordially detested, with an 
antipathy afterwards to be so bitterly returned to his own cost. 
Carl Maria’s long-projected “art and nature pot-house jour- 
ney,” as he called it, to Switzerland, lay before him. One 
of his chief reasons for taking this tour was his desire to study 
the system of Pestalozzi in musical instruction. Both king 
and queen had so fully evinced their high contentment at his 
Munich performances, that he was able to start off with well- 
lined purse. On the 9th of August he departed trom Munich, 
full of energy and hope. 


CHAPTER XI. 


WANDERINGS. 


Cart Marra’s journey to Switzerland began under the 
most unpleasant auspices. His direct way to the Lake of Con- 
stance, whither he was first bound, lay across a little corner of 
the Wirtemberg territory. Perhaps the ban which hung over 
him in the forbidden kingdom never once entered the careless 
young fellow’s mind; perhaps, if he really did think, he con- 
cluded that he could slip by unregarded on an obscure fron- 
tier. At all events, he arrived at Ravensberg, the pretty little 
border town, without a thought of evil. He had given up his 
passport, had received it back, and, had stepped into his con- 
veyance with light heart, when suddenly the principal fron- 
tier-overseer of the district, a Stuttearter of the name of 
Romig, stepped up to the carriage, looked at him sharply, re- 
demanded his passport, and abruptly announced to him that he 
was “in arrest.” So Carl Maria was bundled out of the car- 
riage without ceremony, conveyed into “ The Lamb,” the only 
little inn of the place, and safely bestowed in a room, where 
he was told he was to remain under the strict guard of a gen- 
darme. : 

Terror seized upon the poor young man. He well knew the 
ruthless sovereign with whom he had to deal. Spectral visions, 
in which he fancied himself dragged as a criminal to Stuttgart, 
and then buried alive in a fortress prison, flitted before his 

164 


WEBER ON THE LAKE OF CONSTANCE. 165 


eyes, as he sat alone brooding in his chamber. Whilst an 
estafette was despatched to the capital to learn what measures 
should be taken with the arrested youth, he lay sick and help- 
less, shivering with fever. Fortunately the postmaster, by 
name Paur, took pity on him, and brought him a medical man. 
As it happened also, two young officers, who had known Carl 
Maria, and cracked many a good bottle of wine with him in 
Stuttgart, were then quartered in Ravensberg. They heard 
of his arrest, came to visit him, and obtained permission for 
him to play billiards with them, and otherwise kill time and 
heavy thought. Carl Maria’s recovery from his attack of fever 
was slow, however. Five days were passed in anxiety. At 
last a carrier arrived, bringing back the passport, and an order 
that the delinquent should be passed on immediately to the 
next frontier. All his friends at Munich, he afterwards learned, 
had credited the report that his destiny had been the fortress 
of Hohenasberg. But Friedrich of Wiirtemberg could not let 
any cause for anger pass without a victim. His rage fell upon 
the compassionate postmaster. The unfortunate man received, 
by the same courier, the intimation that he was dismissed for- 
ever from the royal service. 

Carl Maria, still suffering from fever and weakness, was 
thrust into a carriage, and, with a gendarme by his side, con- 
veyed to Morsburg on the Lake of Constance. Fortunately 
this was the very direction in which he was intending to 
travel. Without being allowed a moment's rest, he was placed 
in a boat bound for Constance. At that town he was at last 
at liberty; and he bent his first free steps to the lovely domain 
of the Baron Hogener, who had been one of his many kind 
friends during the Munich season, and had frequently invited 
him to this place. There he hoped to recover his health and 
spirits. Schloss Wolfsberg was beautifully situated on the 
borders of the lake, at a short distance from Constance, com- 
manding views of great magnificence, and enjoying the purest 
air. Carl Maria was received with open arms by the amiable 
master. With good tending and nursing, aided by the elas: 


166 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


ticity of youth, he was enabled to shake off at last the weight 
of fever and prostration, which his terrible anxiety of mind 
had generated. Some happy days were passed, during this 
recovery, in the fullest enjoyment of Nature’s beauties, and in 
the bosom of a charming family. On his departure he gave 
his good friends, as a reminiscence of those days, a canzonette 
composed during his stay, to the words, “ D’ ogni amitor’ la 
fede @ sempre mal sicura.” And now, full of life and hope 
once more, revelling in the rich charms of Nature around him, 
Carl Maria took open boat down the Rhine for Schaffhausen, 
singing with renewed artistic spirit as he went. But strange 
care the ways of genius! Who could have supposed that Ger- 
man Weber, floating down the German Rhine, under the in- 
fluence of the magnificent scenery of German Switzerland, 
should haye found his fancy occupied with little Italian can- 
zonettes ? One of these, “ Chi mai vi possa lasciar d’ amare,” 
he noted down as he lay upon the benches of the boat. 

Two purposes directed Carl Maria to Schaffhausen. The 
one was to visit the famous fall of the Rhine; the other, to 
be present at a general gathering of the “ Helvetian Musical 
Society,” which was there taking place. He was happy in 
the achievement of both. He approached the fall with an anx- 
ious fear lest this wonder of nature might sink far below the pic- 
tures of his own imagination: he found, to his delight, it far 
exceeded them. At the meeting of the “Helvetian Musical 
Society ” he came across the man whose acquaintance he most 
desired to make in Switzerland, and whose good opinion he 
most longed to win. This was Nigeli of Zurich, one of the 
principal founders of the society, at once an admirable musi- 
cian and a pleasant composer, as well as bookseller. Weber 
had long known this excellent man’s “ Instruction in the Art 
of Singing,” on the system of Pestalozzi, and had long hon- 
ored his unremitting efforts to establish music as one of the 
principal elements in the formation of national character. Nda- 
geli, on the other hand, had heard Weber’s “Sylvana” in 
Frankfort, and possessed the highest opinion of the young com- 


AT SCHAFFHAUSEN. 167 


poser’s talent. He received the young man with a mixture of 
cordiality and reverence, and immediately offered to have him 
made an honorary member of the “ Helvetian Musical Society ” 
at the first meeting of the body. The election took place with 
acclamation. 

Schaffhausen was crowded, on the occasion of this gather- 
ing, with musicians, singers, and lovers of music from every 
part of Switzerland. The concerts were held in the fine old 
cathedral church, or in the open air, in the lovely public gar- 
dens stretching along the banks of the Rhine. The weather 
was propitious. Everywhere might be seen the ardent young 
Weber at the concerts, in the midst of the joyous singers of a 
people proud of their freedom, whose “genuine republican spirit 
and unity of feeling,” as Carl Maria himself wrote, “was so 
interesting ” to him in the gardens on heavenly evenings, when 
the mountains were still glowing with the brilliant colors of the 
setting sun, and perfumed breezes floated down from their 
hollows, by music and song, by public fireworks and _ balls 
in the guildhall, in every place, on every occasion, when he 
could feel his heart beat with joy again, and chase from his 
mind the lingering mists of that terrible arrest at Ravensberg. 
This joyous feeling was to be crowned with a fresh joy. At 
one of the concerts suddenly and unexpectedly there rose 
before him, like a vision, the form of his dear young friend 
Meyerbeer. The young musician was on his way to Italy with 
his parents, and had halted at Schaffhausen to take part in 
the great musical celebration. This meeting was not only one 
of pleasure: it was destined to be of considerable importance 
in Carl Maria’s after-life. He now first made the acquaintance 
of Meyerbeer’s excellent parents, whose affection he won, as 
was his wont, at their first meeting, by the charm of his bright, 
amiable manners and his witty discourse. A friendship was then 
and there formed, which was afterwards to be an ark of refuge to 
him in the stormy whirlpool of his life at Berlin. Delighted as 
Carl Maria was at this meeting with Meyerbeer, he found 
reason, however, to complain of his cool North-German friend. 


168 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


“T was not at all pleased with the little bear,’ he wrote to 
Gottfried Weber. “ Of course I could have no talk with him 
at the concert; and, as he was lodged outside the town-gates, 
which closed at nine, he soon scrambled away. He promised 
to be with me by six the next morning—serviteur! At last 
came a note to say he would be with me by eleven. The same 
thing over again! But you know Master Bear’s habits on such 
occasions. I never saw him until the concert in the evening. 
The next day, which was his birthday, I breakfasted with his 
parents. But what chance of any confidential interchange 
of feeling then? ... His parents are charming people; his 
mother especially delighted me.” 

At the conclusion of the musical festivities Carl Maria 
started off, in company with the Beers, for Winterthur, where 
he had been advised to give a concert. Provided, as he was, 
with plentiful letters of introduction, he expected all to go 
“like clockwork.” But on his arrival he soon found the giv- 
ing of the concert no such easy matter. The orchestra, formed 
of amateurs, he discovered, on first hearing, to be wholly inca- 
pable of accompanying his great piano-concerto. He passed 
a whole day and night in reducing the instrumental score to a 
quartet. “The work was the very devil!” he wrote after- 
wards. Next, no decent piano was to be found in all the 
town. Second despair! The concert, however, took place; 
but with so little remunerative results, that, had he not been 
the guest of a gentleman in the town, the expenses of the ill- 
advised excursion would not have been covered. So Weber, 
in a rather discontented frame of mind, passed on to Zurich. 

His object was naturally to give a second concert here. But 
another purpose was also uppermost in his mind. One of the 
great desires of his “ Harmonic Society” was to establish a 
musical paper of its own. But the difficulty had been to find 
a publisher for an enterprise, the profits of which were far from 
clear. In his new acquaintance, Niigeli, Weber hoped to have 
discovered the desired man. But, on his arrival at Zurich, he 
found the good bookseller little disposed to forward his views. 


FOOT-JOURNEY IN THE OBERLAND. 169 


Niigeli very pathetically pointed to his account-books to prove 
how disastrous to his trade had been all his connection with 
musical literature. But the publisher smiled more hopefully upon 
another idea, which now flashed across Carl Maria’s active 
brain. While conversing on literary topics he had conceived 
the plan of writing a “ Handbook for Wandering Musical Art- 
ists,” which was to contain every possible information for the 
guidance of musicians on artistic tours. Inspired with this 
plan, and encouraged by the publisher, the eager young man 
set to work at once to write his book; and with such incessant 
zeal did his pen flow, that the necessary arrangements for his 
concert were more than half neglected. The work, however, 
so sedulously begun was necessarily laid aside in the pressure 
of business of a more purely artistic nature, and was never 
completed, — unfortunately, it may be said; for such a book, as 
conceived by Weber, might have been as useful, in a practical 
point of view, as it would have been of importance in the his- 
tory of musical art. 

Fortunately for Carl Maria, Niigeli-and his friends were busy 
in the arrangements of the concert, which the young man him- 
self, in his hot literary zeal, had nigh forgotten. His reputa- 
tion had preceded him from Schaffhausen ; his allies had sung 
his praises, and the concert was crowded. Every expectation 
was more than realized. The applause throughout his play was 
so enthusiastic that the young artist was almost overcome. 
But in writing of this concert Weber expressed, more than any 
thing, his own delight at playing, for the first time, on a piano 
by Erard. 

With better satisfaction in his heart now, Carl Maria deter- 
mined on immediately putting into execution a long-projected 
excursion into the Oberland on foot. In this purpose he was 
all the more encouraged, as he found a new Zurich acquaint- 
ance, Siste, an accomplished musician and excellent man, bent 
upon the same plan of travel. The young man had some mis- 
trust as to the powers of endurance of his own legs; and there 
is no doubt that this mistrust was only too well founded. But 


170 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


he had unusual pride in undertaking the experiment; and 
with a light knapsack on each back, the two musicians wended 
their way out of the gates of Zurich. 

Before leaving Zurich, however, Weber took occasion to visit 
Nigeli’s celebrated Singing Institute. But here he was evi- 
dently much disappointed, although the study of the Pestalozzi 
system had been one of the objects of his journey. “It was 
altogether a curious affair,” he wrote to Gottfried Weber: “the 
fellows sang well— but how? Just like people in a Lutheran 
church. The compositions I could in no wise make up my 
mind to: they appeared to me so dreadfully commonplace 
and vulgar! Perhaps, however, I could not understand them. 
I suppose it is national singing.” 

It is scarcely necessary to follow the young tourist with his 
companion on a journey, which had no influence on his music- 
al development or his artistic career, through all the well- 
known valleys, passes, mountains, and lakes of that magnificent 
region, the Oberland of Berne. That the ardent imagination 
of the young composer was vividly impressed, there can be no 
doubt. No one was led away more enthusiastically by the 
charms of nature than himself; but his fine healthy tempera- 
ment was as equally devoid of all mere sentimentality. 
Beyond a few glowing descriptions of the avalanches, which 
thundered on his way, and the deep blue-clefted glaciers, with 
flowers on their brink, all the entries in his day-book of the 
marvellous sights he witnessed are but brief and scanty. Far 
more frequent are the expressions, “ Tired as a dog!” “Slept 
like a top after all my fatigues!” “A man should not attempt 
to describe these wonders,” he notes in his diary; and in a 
letter to his friend Dusch he again writes, “I am to describe 
scenery,— am I? Such an attempt would drive me fully mad. 
No: I can feel in God’s free nature ; but speak of it I cannot!” 
Curious also, as bearing upon the same feeling, is an extract 
from a long letter, respecting his excursion, to his friend Gott- 
fried Weber. “I have been reading over my scribble,” he 
writes: “a curious idea has just struck me. Suppose it should 


ART IN THE COUNTRY. aya | 


be Heaven’s will that we should be celebrated men one of these 
days. Why! when we are dead, people may choose to collect 
our letters; and what an abominable trick it would. be, if this 
wretched letter of mine were ever to be printed ! ” 

It had been Carl Maria’s hope to have extended his journey 
to Geneva and its lake. But his purse began to get low; and, 
with many a sigh, this intention was necessarily renounced. 
He turned back on his way,.and proceeded to prosecute his 
more immediately artistic journey northwards, in order to 
strengthen his weakened finances by giving fresh concerts. 
Berne offering no hopes of a pecuniary success, he found his 
way to Soluthurn, where the foreign diplomatic corps was then 
accustomed to reside, as possibly more propitious to his hopes. 
At Soluthurn he was taken by some friends to visit the Bava- 
rian minister, Herr d’Ollory, who had a delightful residence in 
the neighborhood. “Iwas most charmingly received here,” 
he noted in his diary, “and compelled to remain. . . . What 
good it does one to enjoy once more the companionship of 
good, honest, straightforward people, who have the interests 
of Art so warmly at heart!” But in Soluthurn Carl Maria 
was again doomed to disappointment. He soon found that all 
chances of a concert there were vain. Under these circum- 
stances he accepted an invitation from the amiable Bavarian 
minister to spend some days at his lovely place at Jegisdorf. 

It is a remarkable fact in Weber’s life, that his most irresisti- 
ble impulses to productiveness almost invariably came upon 
him at times when the impressions bestowed by the world 
without and around him might have been thought the most 
absorbing. Thus, in the house of Herr d’Ollory, surrounded 
by brilliant society, he isolated himself from the company, 
even to the point of giving offence, and lived an almost retired 
lite in his own room. ‘This time, stolen from lively social 
intercourse, was passed in continuous work. One of the chief 
productions of this visit was his brilliant scena and aria from 
“Athalie ;” which he composed for the beautiful Frau Peyer- 
mann, an admirable songstress, who was an inmate of the 


H7Z WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


house. How far his feverish susceptibility to female charms 
may have influenced him, on this occasion, is not clear; but 
the air was followed by one of the freshest and most beautiful 
of all his songs, — “ Kiinstler’s Liebesforderung,” — “ The Art- 
ist’s Declaration of Love,’ —the words of which flowed, simul- 
taneously with the music, from his own pen. He says, in his 
diary, “ I was possessed of the devil of poetasters. - It was in 
vain to try to exorcise the imp. I was obliged to write verses, 
whether I would or not.” The circumstance is suspicious ; 
but, at the same time, it must be remarked, he worked hard on 
the minuet and allegro of a clarionet concerto, on which he 
was then engaged for business purposes. Nor, even if his 
heart was really touched, did he neglect other interests. Dur- 
ing his stay at Jevisdorf he made an excursion to Aarau, for 
the purpose of visiting the celebrated author, Zschokke, whose 
acquaintance he not only hoped to make, but whose active 
co-operation he, as well as his fellow laborers, had the greatest 
desire to obtain for their “ Harmonic Society.” These inten- 
tions and hopes were frustrated, however. On his arrival at 
Aarau, Weber had the mortification of learning that Zschokke 
was absent from home and on a journey. But time pressed; 
and Carl Maria had to part, with a heavy heart, from his good 
friends at Jegisdorf. 

In Basle the young wandering artist had the expectation of 
at last finding a town in which he could give the concert, 
which the exigencies of his purse now began to force upon 
him more and more. For centuries past, Basle had been 
regarded as the central point for all intellectual and artistic 
life in Switzerland; and here, in truth, he found arms open to 
receive him, hands ready to assist him. The aristocratic, as 
well as the scientific and artistic circles of the town vied with 
each other in testifying their admiration and respect. Right 
pleasant days were passed in private musical performances; 
and his concert was fixed for the 138th November. Again, on 
this occasion, the little demon that presided over his “evil 
star” made a bold attempt to exercise its malignant influence. 








CONCERT AT BASLE. 173. 


On the very morning of the concert, the news spread through 
the town that.the Hereditary Grand Duchess Stephanie of 
Baden was about to arrive that very day at her country resi- 
dence in the neighborhood. All the world was ago to see 
and to greet this interesting and much-loved princess on her 
return. Carl Maria, although so well accustomed to these 
tricks of fate, was in despair. Fortunately, his better genius 
made a strong pull the other way. Few of his expected 
audience absented themselves. In every point of view the 
concert was successful: it gave him a clear profit of a hundred 
and thirty florins. The expenses had been but trifling. The 
concert direction of the town of Basle had insisted on taking 
the principal outlay on itself, as “a mark of admiration and 
regard” for the talented young composer. 

With the pleasantest feelings, induced by his short stay in 
Basle, Weber terminated his Swiss journey of three months. 
In many respects this excursion had been of signal advantage 
to him. It had spread his reputation in a portion of Europe 
isolated in many ways from the intellectual influences of more 
refined civilization; it had procured him friends and acquaint- 
ances of distinction and worth; it had freshened him up in 
body and soul, and given him new confidence in his own 
powers. It had done more. It had entirely dispossessed him 
of an opinion which he had long entertained, and frequently 
expressed ; namely, that the development and cultivation of all 


_art, and more especially of music, can only be generated in an 


atmosphere warmed by the genial sun of a prince devoted to 
its interests. He came from his intercourse with stout, honest, 
republican natures, whose hearts beat as warmly for musical 
art in its best form as did those of the highest of the earth, 
cured, as he himself admitted, of the prejudice that the highest 
refinement of manners was indispensable for the acquirement 


-of a true feeling for music. His experiences had not only 


thoroughly destroyed his cherished theories, but had given him 
lessons to be remembered in the future relations of his life. 
Spite of all the advantages derived from his interesting jour 


174 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


ney, Carl Maria had not, as has been seen, enjoyed unremitting 
sunshine. One sorrow, wholly unconnected with his tour, had 
pressed heavily upon his heart. During his absence, the un- 
lucky Franz Anton, who now remained permanently at Man- 
heim, and whose intellect became continually weaker and more 
obscured, had done him a serious damage —a damage which 
might have proved irreparable —by mixing himself up in the 
most uncalled-for manner in his son’s affairs, and addressing 
another fulsome letter, utterly devoid of tact, and teeming with 
untruths, but terminating, of course, with the signature of 
“ Baron von Weber, Chamberlain,” to Rochlitz, at Leipsic. 
Carl Maria’s connection with the “ Leipsiker Musik-Zeitung ” 
depended wholly upon his good understanding with the emi- 
nent critic. Upon the discovery of Franz Anton’s miserable 
interference, he wrote to deprecate the ill-will of Rochlitz on 
the score of his father’s age and weakness. No greater proof 
can be found of Carl Maria’s goodness and delicacy of heart, 
as well as of his unceasing attachment to his wretched old 
father, than in the fact that, immediately after his knowledge 
of this letter, which gave him the bitterest annoyance, he 
wrote from Berne to the old gentleman in a strain of the most 
simple, childlike affection, without one single allusion of the 
remotest kind to the cause of his distress. 

After another brief sojourn with his friend, Baron Hoggner, 
at Wolfsberg, Carl Maria returned, by the way of Lindau, 
back to Munich. Here a hundred little disagreeablenesses 
awaited him, all arising from the complications of his multi- 
farious love-adventures. But, at the same time, he was greeted 
by the joyful intelligence that his good friend Birmann, the 
great clarionet player, had arranged so as to accompany him 
on his further artistic tour towards the North of Germany. 
Every anticipated cloud now disappeared from Carl Maria’s 
mind; anda fresh, golden halo was shed over every anticipated 
joy. His future journey was to be a mere “ party of pleasure,” 
as he wrote. But much was to be done before the friends 
could start; and Weber set himself to work with untired zeal 


SECOND MUNICH CONCERT. 175 


and energy. Before putting in his petition for the promised 
letters of introduction from his royal patrons, he had to com- 
plete his canzonettes, of which the queen had accepted the ded- 
ication. One of the instrumental concert-pieces commanded 
by the king was also still unwritten. Several literary critical 
notices were demanded at his hands. Moreover, a grand concert 
with Biirmann was to be given before his departure. His hands 
were full. But, under the vigorous grasp of the zealous and 
industrious artist, link after link fell from the chain which 
bound him to Munich. Three of his canzonettes for the queen, 
« Mille volte, mio tesoro,” “ Va! ti consola, addio,” and “ Ninfe 
se liete,” were polished off in as many days, and, with those 
which he had composed on his journey, were presented to Her 
Majesty in a private audience. Weber, abashed at the facility 
with which he had completed his task, excused himself for 
having ventured to attach the royal name to such little trifles. 
“ Hush! hush!” replied the queen, laughing. “ Nothing is 
little! nothing is great! But I well know that all which 
comes from your hands cannot be otherwise than beautiful.” 
Day and night the young composer sat at his labors, until 
all his work was ended. The concert was held on the 11th of 
November, and was the most brilliant, perhaps, that Weber 
had ever given. The “cream” of the Munich society of the 
day was there, headed by the royal couple. All seemed ani- 
mated by the desire to shower the highest honors on the head 
of the much-beloved and respected young artist, who was so 
soon to depart from among them. Weber’s original overture 
to “ Rubezahl,” now wholly reconstructed by him, under the 
new title of “ The Ruler of the Spirits,” was one of the features 
of the evening. Although not one of the most melodious of his 
beautiful overtures, “The Ruler of the Spirits” was one by 
which Weber laid great store. On this occasion it was admi- 
rably played, and commanded the loudest approbation. His 
new air from “ Athalie,” composed for Madame Peyermann, 
was sung by Regina Lang; and Carl Maria found himself in- 
spired with even more than the usual fire of genius, when, on 


176 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


the favorite romance of Benjamin from Mehul’s “ Joseph ” be- 
ing given him by the queen, as a theme for improvisation, he 
sat down to the piano on that night, and carried all hearts 
away. It was impossible for artist to bid farewell more over- 
whelmed with honor and glory than did Weber in his adieu 
to Munich. 

Fortune was here again shining upon the young composer 
Beyond the troubles his own follies had brought upon his head, 
he had but one cloud upon his mind when he left the Bavarian 
capital. This cloud, which had gathered slowly and almost 
unobserved by Carl Maria himself at first, was a strange mis- 
understanding with Gottfried Weber. His Manheim friend 
seemed to have conceived the idea that Carl Maria exercised 
his influence, as director of the affairs of the secret “ Har- 
monic Society,” too greatly for his own interests and advantage. 
This misunderstanding was more than half a misconception, 
which a personal explanation might have cleared away. Let- 
ter after letter was written by Carl Maria to his friend at this 
period, and for some months to come, in his usual bright, half- 
jesting, affectionate, cajoling style; but to vain purpose. The 
correspondence of «the friends flagged sadly in spirit and 
warmth. And it was only under the vivifying sun of a happy 
meeting afterwards, that this cloud, which hung perpetually 
over Carl Maria’s mind, could be wholly and forever dispersed. 

A good, stout, comfortable travelling-carriage for two had 
been bought; and never, perhaps, did two musicians set out 
on an art-pilgrimage with more hopeful and joyous spirits 
than did Weber and Birmann, when, after shaking off the 
heavy burden of the hundred-and-one farewell visits, they 
drove forth on the 1st December into the cold winter air. By 
travelling day and night, the two friends arrived at Prague on 
the 4th. Little did Carl Maria then know how important was 
to be the part which the Bohemian city would play in the 
drama of his life in the future. For the present, all was joy 
as he threw himself into the arms of his dear friend Gins- 
bacher, who was then residing in Prague, in the service of 


bs 


SOCIETY IN PRAGUE. LAT 


Count Carl Max Firmian. The good fellow had been apprised 
of Carl Maria’s advent, and of his intention to give concerts 
in Prague; and he had paved the way so as to facilitate this 
design. But Giinsbacher was too jovial a soul not to desire 
to make a sojourn in Prague, in every possible way, delizht- 
ful to the strangers who claimed its hospitality. 

Prague was at that period a city combining every possible 
advantage which Ginsbacher desired for his friend. Not only 
were the love and culture of music requirements of life, in the 
eyes of the many men of talent and note with which the city 
was filled, but they reigned paramount in all the most bril- 
liant families of the wealthy Bohemian capital. 

For the first time, Weber found himself thrown into the 
circle of that Austrian aristocracy which had produced a long 
succession of men of truly noble feeling, — men who had immor- 
talized themselves as the greatest patrons of Art, as well as by 
their services as generals and statesmen. The aristocracy at 
Prague, at this period, was one which formed a marked con- 
trast with the so-called nobility of other parts of Germany, 
whose highest boast was to have intermarried with their equals — 
ever since the Crusades, never to have been of the slightest 
service to their generation, and to have obstructed every effort 
made to take the rule of States out of the hands of high- 
born incapacity, and to bestow it in the better keeping of 
“non-born” intelligence. No nobility in the world had more 
distinguished itself in its relations to Art, and especially as 
regards music, than had the knightly men and noble dames of 
the oldest Austrian races then congregated in Prague; in none 
was there a more ardent, genuine, disinterested admiration for 
the beautiful and the good. The love of Art was no mere 
fashion here. Fashion does not outlive generation after gen- 
eration; fashion bestows no such sense of humility in the 
presence of genius as that exemplified by the intercourse of 
the Viennese nobility with the bitter, morose, and uncourtly 
Beethoven; fashion does not bestow the capacity for under- 
standing what is really great in Art. From days already 

13 


178 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


ancient in history, never had a great name shone as a bright 
star in the firmament of Art, that it had not been coupled 
with another, bright also with the lustre of its own noble radi- 
ance; and together they had risen to fame in the annals of 
posterity. h 

To two representatives of such noble names, rendered glori- 
ous in the history of music, Prince George Lobkowitz and 
Count Joseph Wrtby, who two years before, in conjunction 
with six other gentlemen of title and wealth, had founded the 
great musical association of Bohemia, Carl Maria was at once 
presented by Giansbacher. Both these noblemen received 
Weber with the liveliest interest, presented him in turn to all 
the greatest personages in Prague who could be any way influ- 
ential in forwarding his purpose, and took upon themselves all 
the arrangements with the authorities of the city in his behalf; 
so that all the preparations for the important concert seemed 
to him to have been conjured together by the magic wand of a 
troop of beneficent fairies. Every encouragement at the same 
time was given to the young artist by Liebich, the director of 
the theatre, an individual of imposing and colossal mien, with 
a true-hearted, but cunning expression of face. This excellent 
man, who suffered from a very painful malady, was accustomed 
to assemble every member of his company, without exception, 
from the youngest soubrette to the oldest “heavy tragedian,” 
around his bed, as that of a respected father; and, whilst 
addressing all by the most affectionate little names of endear- 
ment, would arrange, like a good old patriarch, all the business 
of his admirably-conducted theatre. When Carl Maria entered 
his sick-room, he stretched out his hand to him with a benevo- 
lent smile, and addressed him at once with the words, “So you 
are the Weber! a capital fellow, I hear, and a very devil on 
the piano. Of course, you want me to buy your operas. Very 
well! I hear they are good. One fills up an evening; t’other 
doesn’t. I'll give you fifteen hundred florins Viennese for the 
two. Is it a bargain?” It was a bargain; and the whole 
affair was settled in a moment. From the first, Liebich was 


THE PRAGUE MANAGER. 179 


charmed by Carl Maria’s straightforward, jovial manner, as 
well as by the steadiness and soundness of his judgment. 
He watched the young artist with rapid, searching scrutiny 
during the whole of their interview, and immediately deter- 
mined on a project, which, in the year to come, was destined 
to give so important a direction to Weber’s whole career. But, 
for the present, he kept his own counsel, and only exacted a 
promise from the young composer, that he would come over to 
Prague the following spring, and conduct the rehearsals of his 
own operas. 

Whilst all the preparations for the concert were going on, 
Carl Maria was winning all hearts, wherever he went, by his 
extempore performances on the piano. In some of the houses 
where he was thus cordially received, he was afterwards to find 
a home. No wonder that in this hospitable city, where all 
seemed pleasure, comfort, ease, and allurement, the two wan- 
dering artists, thus courted and respected, should have found 
their own hearts warm to it. Their concert duly took place 
three days before Christmas. Carl Maria’s imp had again 
done his best to spoil all. Snow, sleet, and for swept through 
the narrow streets of Prague on that inauspicious day. But 
the little demon of evil failed once more. The great concert- 
hall was crowded, not only by all the brilliant’ aristocracy of 
the place, but by all the more opulent and enlightened among 
‘the citizens and tradespeople. Carl Maria himself conducted. 
All went well. Weber’s newly-arranged overture, “ The Ruler 
of the Spirits,” was admirably performed, and excited an 
almost wild enthusiasm. Barmann played his favorite concert 
piece by his young friend; and Weber executed his own piano 
concerto in E flat, with equal applause. But the main attrac- 
tion of the evening was “ Der Erste Ton,” the words of which 
were declaimed by Madame Lowe, the favorite actress of the 
public of Prague, not at all, it may be said, to the advantage 
of ihe work. But success was the great directing genius of all. 
The concert brought to each of the artists a clear profit of 
twelve hundred and forty florins Viennese. The next day 
they went their way. 


180 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


The route of the wanderers lay through Dresden. Here 
they had hoped to have presented their letters of introduction, 
from the King and Queen of Bavaria to the various members 
of the royal family of Saxony, and to have been honored with 
an invitation to play at the palace. But the court was absent. 
So they returned their letters to their pockets; and after a 
very brief stay in the Saxon capital, where, as Carl Maria 
notes, he “heard the celebrated soprano Sassaroli sing vespers 
like a demi-god to Rastelli’s execrable music,” they hastened 
to Leipsic, where they arrived on the 27th, and looked upon 
its old towers with a certain degree of awe. 

In Leipsic, Carl Maria’s first steps were naturally turned to 
the house of Court-counsellor Rochlitz, the celebrated critic 
and editor of the “ Musik-Zeitung.” His correspondence with 
this influential man had inspired Weber with a high esteem 
for him; but the repeated interferences of his unlucky father 
could not but impress him with many anxious doubts as to the 
result of his first interview. Rochlitz, however, received. the 
young artist with open arms; and, without allusion to the dis- 
agreeable circumstances of the past, introduced Carl Maria, 
with genuine and ready kindliness, at a great sacrifice of his 
own time and comfort, to all the principal notabilities of the 
place. 

The respect which the presiding musical genius of Leipsic 
naturally inspired rendered the prospects of their proposed 
concert of more importance to the two artists than in aimost 
any other town. Birmann, who, as a true lover of the pleas- 
ures of the table and of his own personal ease, was now grow- 
ing somewhat stout, spoiled, too, as he was by the homage paid 
to his extraordinarily-handsome personal appearance, left the 
whole care of the arrangements to his young, active, zealous 
friend. But all went far from smoothly. Two of the great 
musical celebrities residing in the town received the young 
composer in any but friendly fashion. Old Capellmeister 
Schicht, spite of all Carl Maria’s genuine admiration for his 
able conductorship, sniffed in the young man a pupil of the 


ti 


LITERARY LABORS. 181 


detested Abbé Vogler, and needed no other reason for turning 
his back coldly on him. The celebrated old violinist, Cam- 
pagnuoli, whose life had been one of strange adventure, al- 
though admired by the young artist, and respected as the 
friend of Cherubini, was net more amiably disposed. All Carl 
Maria’s advances, moreover, to the brothers Seconda, who at 
that time contrived to manage the two theatres of Dresden and 
Leipsie conjointly, and whom the young composer had hoped 
to interest in favor of his operas, signally failed; as indeed 
might have been naturally expected, in the case of two direct- 
ors whose prepossessions were enlisted on the side of Italian 
opera alone. Other friends, however, came around him; and 
with the musical publishers Hiirtel and Kiulnel, who received 
him with ready friendship in their houses, he was enabled to 
form a connection, which, in a business point of view, could not 
but be of signal advantage to him in the future. 

But for Leipsic, Carl Maria could find no affection in his 
heart. Perhaps the contrast of the still, dull, uninteresting 
town, devoid of all brilliancy of illustrious names, or even of 
wealth, with the great city which he had just left, so full of 
splendor, luxury, and excitement, threw a chill over all his 
feelings. The long delay occasioned in the arrangement of his 
concert, doubtless also annoyed and wearied him, At ali 
events, he expressed himself in no favorable terms of the un- 
fortunate town. “Beer, tobacco, and bowls are all they live 
for here,” he wrote in disgust. “The balls are a bore; the 
girls are plain; the students a rough, uncouth lot.” In the 
latter, however, he found afterwards good allies. ‘My only 
comfort here,” he wrote to Ginsbacher, “is that I have time, 
and to spare, for literary work.” 

Upon literary work, then, at the commencement of the year 
1812, in Leipsic, Carl Maria was principally engaged. ‘The 
scarcity of men of general education, who were, at the sama 
time, thorough proficients in musical science, and ready and 
elegant wielders of the pen, caused a constant stream of re- 
quests and demands, from the editors of the various musical 


‘ 


182 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


papers of Germany, to flow in upon a man in every way so com- 
petent as was Weber. The young man had taken an especial 
fancy to literary labor, as was natural in one so successful; 
and, at this period, there was every fear that his fatal facility 
witu his pen might have completely overbalanced his musical 
productiveness. So impressed was he with the importance, as 
well as the remunerative results, of his critical writings, that 
he even began to conceive the idea of severing himself from 
his artistic travelling-companion Birmann, and settling for 
some time in Leipsic, in order to devote himself entirely to 
literary production. Above all, he was desirous of completing 
a novel, to be called “'The Wanderings of a Musical Artist,” 
the design of which he had for some time past conceived, and 
the rough plan of which he had already written down. He 
had laid up stores for the execution of this work at all times, — 
in his travelling-carriage, or in his boat, by mountain-path or 
glacier-side, — and made loose notes of characters and situa- 
tions. This tale was intended to give a description of an 
artist’s life, not as the poet dreams it, but as it exists in its 
daily and hourly realities, in its bitter experiences and its fleet- 
ing triumphs, in its friendships and its envies, jealousies, and 
intrigues. All that his nature had of genial humor, all that his 
heart had of affection, all that his soul had of poetry, was to be 
poured into this labor of love. Doubtless the work, from a 
pen like his, would have been rich in beauties, as it would have 
been original and attractive in its paintings of the real life of 
artists. But the musician might have lost far more than the 
author might have gained. Fortunately an event took place 
which plunged the young artist once more into the stream of 
the practical exercise of his true art. 

Carl Maria was working hard on his book, with all the zeal 
and fire of his nature, when an invitation came to him from the 
Duke of Gotha, to pay a visit to his court, and spend some time 
there. The Duke had heard of the compositions of the young 
musician, whose reputation was already spreading far and wide; 
he had read Carl Maria’s criticisms; :*mmunications from 


THE DUKE OF SAXE-GOTHA. 183 
— 

the Crown-Prince Ludwig of Bavaria had given him alluring 
accounts of the young man’s acquirements. The letter, writ- 
ten in admirable strain, in itself excited Weber’s interest. He 
knew, by reputation, the man whom Napoleon had declared to 
be one of the most talented princes he had ever known. He 
decided at once to accept the invitation, at all events on trial. 
A presentiment seemed to tell him that the Duke would exer- 
cise an important influence on his future career, maybe play a 
leading part in the drama of his life. His presentiment did 
not deceive him. After a concert at Leipsic, given with Bar- 
mann, in which both his “Ruler of the Spirits” and_ his 
“First Tone” excited the greatest enthusiasm, and won the 
most valuable tribute of appreciation from that severe and 
conscientious critic Rochlitz, he started, with his artist-friend, 
on the 17th of January, 1812, for Gotha. 

The Duke Emil Leopold August of Saxe-Gotha was one of 
the most interesting, and, at the same time, one of the most 
extraordinary, personages who had ever sat upon a throne. 
Although brought up under the strictest military discipline, he 
was a warm and enthusiastic devotee to Art in all its branches, 
and knew how to turn the treasures of information, with which 
his mind was so richly stored, and his own various natural 
talents, to the very best account. Although eccentric, at 
times aimost to the verge of insanity, he had the solid good 
sense to cberish his excellent and liberal ministers, to do all 
he could for the improvement of his lovely little land, to estab- 
lish educational institutes, and to refuse to lavish his treasury 
upon the customary extravagance of a military force, at the 
idea of which he scoffed as child’s play in so small a state. 
During the wars with Napoleon he had gone on his steady course 
for the good of his country, amidst all the political difficulties 
of the time, so as even to win the esteem of the mighty in- 
vader. The exercise of his own undoubted abilities, however, 
was always varying in its nature and direction with every 
breath of frantie caprice: one day he was full of poetical fire, 
and wrote idyls of the wildest fancy; another he was em- 


184 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


ployed upon musical compositions to his own verses; now he 
dictated to his startled secretary an artistic novel, the chap- 
ters of which were spun out to interminable length; now he 
was eagerly occupied in writing letters, admirable in their 
style and full of the noblest thoughts, to his literary and intel- 
lectual friends, among whom was Jean Paul Richter. 

Sometimes the Duke would be suddenly taken with a fancy 
to exercise all the powers of that fine, pungent wit, of which 
he was a master, on all around him, — never failing, however, 
to bestow some special favor upon any whom his keen satire 
might have wounded,—sometimes to startle and puzzle his 
whole court by the absurdest whims. One day, upon some 
great ceremonial occasion, when all the court was assembled 
in “orand gala,” he appeared in the circle, and passed from 
one to another, saying a few words to each with the most 
amiable expression of countenance; yet, strange to say, each 
looked surprised and bewildered. “ What did the Duke say to 
you?” was eagerly asked afterwards. ‘To me,” said the first, 
“he whispered, in the most friendly way, ‘ One, two, three!’” 
“ And to me,” said the second, “in the most condescending 
fashion, ‘ Four, five, six!’” The Duke had counted thus through 
the whole assembly, instead of speaking the usual senseless 
words of stale court-talk, which were customary on such occa- 
sions. Sometimes he had appeared in a lady’s gown as his 
court-dress; sometimes in Roman costume, with toga, red 
sandals, and a garland on his head. One day he gave Vulpius, 
for some state service, a fan, which he took from a lady’s hand. 
Almost every day he appeared with differently-colored hair; 
so that his own servants were frequently at a loss to recognize 
hin. 

The Duke was of noble stature, with a fine forehead, hand- 
somely-formed Roman nose, and beautiful, deep-set eyes, the 
expression of which was full of fire and yet loving kindliness. 
His mouth was full of meaning, but received, from the upturned 
corners and protruding under-lip, a character nigh approaching 
to that of a satyr, without, however, detracting from his pre- 


SPOHR, THE GREAT COMPOSER. 185 


possessing personal appearance. In all his person, at the same 
time, there was something soft, almost effeminate, — a manner 
which may have in some degree accounted for his passion for 
female attire. He was a great friend of pleasant social inter- 
course, but insisted always on the most courteous breeding in 
the manners of his court; without, however, being a stickler 
for the old: pigtail ceremonials with which poor courtiers had 
been plagued for half a century. Nothing was more obnoxious 
to his feelings than the rough, coarse, military manners which 
were the fashion then at many of the German courts, in servile 
imitation of Napoleonic practice in Paris. Such was the 
strange, but noble and amiable prince, who so pressingly invited 
Weber to his court, for the chief purpose, as it afterwards ap- 
peared, of engaging the young composer upon a species of 
melodramatic improvisation, from which he expected a very 
great effect. 

At the court of Gotha resided, in the year 1812, the great 
composer, Spohr, then occupied upon the final touches to be 
given to his “ Last Judgment.’ There is no doubt that the 
Duke considered the presence of so illustrious an artist a high 
honor to himself. But the rough, arrogant manners of Spohr 
rendered him but little beloved, either at court or among the 
general public. Towards Carl Maria the celebrated composer 
was even more than ungracious. He looked down upon him 
as an artist, and pertinaciously insisted on treating him only 
as a sort of better amateur. But, in spite of this real or 
affected contempt, Spohr evidently looked askance upon the 
intercourse of Carl Maria with the Duke, as though he feared 
the seductive influence of the amiable and genial young man 
upon their mutual patron. 

Other acquaintances, however, came round the young stran- 
ger, with that ready friendship which he was accustomed 
everywhere to win for himself. The Duke was absent on Carl 
Maria’s arrival; but the young artist was received with simple 
kindness and distinction by the Prince Friedrich, the Duke’s 
younger brother. Many days were spent in exhibiting his tal- 


186 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


ents in private circles, and in making preparations for a con- 
cert, which eventually took place, with fair remunerative suc- 
cess, on the 25th February, before the Duke gave sign of life. 
At last came a letter from the Duke, couched in that peculiarly 
seductive and winning style, of which he was a consummate 
master, but cruelly disappointing to the young expectant art- 
ist. It expressed the Duke’s regrets, that, as unforeseen busi- 
ness demanded his almost immediate departure for Erfurt, he 
would not be able to enjoy Weber’s society in Gotha as much 
as he had expected; but that he hoped in the autumn to allure 
him to a more protracted stay, and, meanwhile, trusted to see 
him as soon as possible at the palace, in order to have the 
pleasure of making his acquaintance. 

At first the young composer felt himself aggrieved. Had he 
not come to Gotha at the Duke’s express invitation? But the 
Jetter was so charming! How should he act? Thus debating 
with himself he drove to court, and was enchanted by the flat- 
tering reception he obtained, and the winning manners of the 
Duke. The two seemed to be friends at once. Between the 
poetic element of the prince’s nature, and the creative genius 
of the young musician’s, there was an immediate sympathy. 
Were the artistic portraits of the two to be sketched, it would 
be impossible to deny the existence of a strange likeness be- 
tween the two men. The portrait of the prince would be a 
caricature, however, of the portrait of the artist. The clearly 
developed features of genius in the latter would appear dis- 
torted and confused in the uncertain, although genial, outline 
of the former. 

From the moment of their meeting, Weber was scarcely al- 
lowed out of the Duke’s sight, and partook with him of every 
meal. Melodies had to be improvised on the piano or guitar 
‘to the Duke’s poetry; or the Duke’s compositions had to be 
looked. over; or literary and critical ideas were to be inter- 
vhanged until late in the night. Impromptu performances had 
to be got up with Spohr and Biirmann, to which the Duke lis- 
tened with delight and enthusiastic applause. One species 


GOETHE AT WEIMAR. EPR 


of artistic or intellectual exercise followed another, until the 
strain of the excessive excitement was almost more than Carl 
Maria could bear: feverish, sleepless nights followed upon 
these days of incessant mental exertion. Spohr looked on and 
laughed. “Had I wanted to do all this intellectual business 
with the Duke,” he said to Weber, “I should long since have 
held no fiddlestick here.” The young man’s mind was, in 
truth, in the wildest tumult; and he resolved, that, when the 
time for his prolonged stay in Gotha should come, his energies 
should be held in more prudent check. At last this artistic 
debauch came to an end; and Carl Maria departed from 
Gotha, before being driven wholly mad, with the intention 
of continuing his art-tour with Birmann. Weimar was to be 
their first destination. 

At the end of January the two artists arrived at Weimar. 
Here they had letters to the Grand Duchess Maria Paulowna, 
the talented daughter of the Emperor Paul of Russia, and the 
wife of the hereditary Prince of Weimar, Carl Friedrich. By 
this charming princess they were received with the most flat- 
tering kindness. Immediately on their arrival, her! influence 
was used to prevail upon the Duke to give a concert extraor- 
dinary at court for their speeial appearance. In her own pal- 
ace she welcomed them with the most courteous grace; and 
here were many evenings spent by Carl Maria, in pleasant in- 
tercourse and the enjoyment of the best music, with as little 
pretension as in the humblest family circle. 

It was on one of these evenings, just as Weber was playing, 
with Biirmann, some variations composed for the latter, upon 
a theme from Carl Maria’s “ Sylvana,” that Goethe entered the 
apartment. Without taking any notice of the artists, the 
great man seated himself, talked loudly with a lady during 
the whole performance, and rose to leave the company the 
moment the music ceased. Weber, however, was presented to 
him. With a slight acknowledgment, and a trivial question, 
Goethe turned away and was gone. The two artists, who, with 
a fair share of fame of their own, had been accustomed to 


188 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


tokens of notice and regard, were all the more wounded at the 
behavior of the prince of poets, as they had so long loved and 
reverenced him in their hearts. Strange to say, in after life, 
spite of all his endeavors, Weber was never able to meet with 
a favorable reception from Goethe. Indeed, at a subsequent 
period, the great poet took occasion, in one marked instance, 
to treat him with coldness and repulsion. 

All the more warmly was Carl Maria attracted to Wieland, 
whose acquaintance he made at Weimar. The strange feeling 
which drew him towards the old poet might now be looked 
upon, by a fancifully-disposed mind, as a presentiment that 
from one of his grandest works would be derived the source of 
one of his own greatest operas. He had visited the old man 
on the very day of his arrival at Weimar. “TI have seen 
Father Wieland,” he noted in his diary: “the deepest rever- 
ence and emotion must fill the hearts of all who draw near 
him. His hearty, sterling, German manner wins you at once, 
and irresistibly. He asked me to play, and I played to him 
with fullest heart and soul. He seemed affected by my per- 
formance,.and said so much which touched me, that I left him 
filled with joy.” 

Among the many celebrities by whom Carl Maria was sur- 
rounded in Weimar, two alone were destined to exercise any 
enduring influence upon his after life. The one was Vertuch, 
the creator and editor of the “Allgemeine Literatur-Zeitung ; ” 
the other.was Pius Alexander Wolff, a man of talent, of a 
somewhat cold and polished nature, who was then occupied 
with his production of “ The Steadfast Prince,” after Calderon, 
—a work, which, in spite of all the misgivings of the dramatic 
world, excited the greatest sensation. The classical repose of 
this man was most imposing to Carl Maria. His whole bearing 
was of that school of Goethe, which inspired reverence and 
respect. Thus, whilst his style had no influence upon the 
young composer’s own creations, his individuality interested 
Weber so strongly, that a friendship sprang up between them, 
one of the fruits of which was to be the music to Wolff’s 
drama of “ Preciosa.” 


THE WEIMAR OPERA. 189 


An attempt, it appears, was made by Carl Mzria’s new 
patroness, the Grand Duchess Maria Paulowna, to have his 
opera of “ Sylvana” produced at Weimar; but, for the present 
at least, the intrigues of Capellmeister Miiller were too well 
arranged for this intention to be put into execution. The 
opera at Weimar, which Goethe encouraged, with the idea, 
shared also by Schiller, that musical productions, by giving a 
feeling for rhythm, re-acted favorably upon the true interests 
of the drama, had, in spite of the efforts of more inspired 
musical natures to the contrary, assumed something of the 
cold, measured, rigidly-disciplined school of theatrical decla- 
mation, which was supported by the influence of the great 
poet. Weber, of whose nature strong, warm feeling was one 
of the principal elements, found no great attraction, conse- 
quently, in the operatic performances as then produced upon 
the stage of Weimar. 

On leaving Weimar, Weber and Bairmann were again in 
Dresden. Here poor Carl Maria was necessitated, in further- 
ance of his plans, to make as many as thirty-three visits on 
one day! But Dresden was not fated to be much more propi- 
tious to the young artist than on his previous stay. Of the 
numerous personages to whom he had recommendations, but 
few took the slightest notice of his presence. After all the 
tokens of kindness and distinction he had received, on all his 
wanderings, this marked indifference of the Dresdeners smote 
him to the quick. The all-powerful cabinet-minister, Mar- 
colini, however, a polite and cunning Italian, who seemed to 
have pierced with his sharp eyes the very folds of the letter 
brought by Weber from the Crown-Prince of Bavaria to the 
queen, smiled on him, and gave him the hope that he might be 
able to perform in “just the very smallest little circle of the 
royal family;” and, two days afterwards, he was graciously 
received by the Queen of Saxony in private audience. The 
performance, in fact, took place just previously to the depar- 
ture of the two artists, as was promised, in “the very smallest 
little circle.” The “very smallest little circle,” however, was 


190 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


greatly delighted. Even the severe features of the king 
relapsed into a smile of approbation; and with overpowering 
thanks, and two handsome snuff-boxes, the artists were courte- 
ously dismissed. 

But, meanwhile, all the arrangements for the concert were 
being made, amidst hinderances and vexations of every kind, 
and with all that dilatory aversion to progress which has ever 
been characteristic of the charming little capital of Saxony. 
Weber thus had time to visit the collections of pictures, and 
treasures of art; to delectate himself with Sassaroli’s wonder- 
ful singing once again; and to attend the concerts of that 
admirable institute, the “ Harmonie,” where he had the pleas- 
ure of making the acquaintance of its worthy and talented 
founder Dreissig, the court organist. The subscriptions for 
the concert proceeded lamentably, however. The fine society 
of Dresden had no interest in artists who were not Italians; 
the diplomatic corps had no money to spend; the court was 
weak. When Biirmann and Weber looked at the subscription- 
list, they burst out laughing, and exclaimed, “ They won’t 
catch us in Dresden again in a hurry.” 

The evening came; the room was nearly empty ; the receipts, 
when divided, amounted to twenty-eight thalers for each art- 
ist. The audience, however, made up in quality of applause 
what it lacked in quantity; and, although the Dresden critic 
declared Weber’s style a mere imitation of Spohr, and his 
music strange and false in modulation and harmony when new, 
the scanty public recognized the young composer’s genius. 


CHAPTER XII. 


BERLIN IN 1812. 


On the 20th February, Weber arrived at Berlin. It was 
the first time that he was destined to make a sojourn in the 
great North-German city, of sufficient duration to allow its 
peculiar intellectual and artistic tendencies to exercise any 
permanent effect on his own organization. As yet, his artistic 
character had been almost entirely developed by the influence 
of the more stimulating South-German nature, in a course of 
life which acted upon him rather powerfully than profoundly, 
amidst a lively people, and under a genial sky. The compan- 
ions, in whose intercourse he had received the impressions 
mirrored on his own nature, had been principally jovial young 
artists and merry students, lively fellows, neophytes in the art 
of living, but with honest soulsyon the one hand; and, on the 
other, debauched young nobles, court officials of the lowest 
principles, profligate and capricious princes, and, with few 
exceptions, women of light hearts and lighter manners. His 
genius had probably lost nothing duringhis erratic course. He 
had turned over the leaves of the book of passion hastily ; but 
his heart had not been corrupted as he read, and his artist- 
nature had stored up arich portfolio of the most lively and 
varied pictures, the profusion of which excited his own aston- 
ishment, whenever he opened it to hunt up studies for new 


works. His artistic individuality, as afterwards formed, may 
191 


192 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


have been bountifully enriched under such circumstances; but 
it could never have been completed. For this purpose other, 
and in some respects directly-opposed, influences were needed. 
_ The sphere which the genius of Weber was formed to fill, 
in the full development of its originality, was not to be reached 
by the same path as that so gloriously trodden by the immor- 
tal old masters. The endless flow of great or delightful 
thought, as it streamed forth from Father Haydn’s soul; the 
Raphaelite beauty which gleamed in Mozart’s music, as if by 
heavenly intuition; the statuesquely-chiselled embodiments of 
great, simple, profound forms in Gliick, were all alike far from 
the power of creation which Weber’s genius imperatively de- 
manded. His manner of production is only to be understood 
by the recognition in him of a sort of second-sight, beyond and 
out of his artistic genius. His creations were regulated by his 
faculty of standing apart as his own public. He was the first 
of all the great masters who possessed the peculiar art of hear- 
ing his own works with the ears of the masses; of transform- 
ing, in thought, his dark and narrow chamber into an 
illuminated theatre, filled with a listening throng; his work- 
table, covered with his score, into a brilliant scenic stage; to 
feel with all the thousand hearts, and see with all the thousand 
eyes. It was this singular power which gave into Weber’s 
hand the magic wand to conjure up those irresistible effects 
which carried away the masses as well as the musician, and 
gave so great a distinctive quality to his music. But the pub- 
lic with which Weber felt in common was always an ideal 
and a noble public; and thus his effects were always genuine 
and true effects, founded en the best feelings, and sinking deep 
into men’s hearts. 

This peculiar power, it must be admitted, was not without 
its own peculiar danger. Musical critics, who considered a 
strict, harmonious, architectural structure in a work of art as its 
best attribute, have declared that Weber’s lavish use of melo 
dies and harmonies, as means of captivating his public, brilliant 
and beautiful as they may have been, detracted from the 





BERLIN AS A SCHOOL OF ART. 193 


plastic form and pure contour of the whole, and, like rich 
embroideries, however precious the jewels with which they 
were beset, ruinéd the chastely-beautiful folds of the garment. 
But there is no doubt that Weber succeeded in reducing the 
danger of this peculiarity to its minimum; whilst, at the same 
time, to this persistent, objective contemplation of his own 
works was owing that local tone in his music, which he bor- 
rowed from local coloring in painting, and which he first used 
with such decided weight and importance. It is the inimitable 
manner in which this local tone is carried out in Weber’s 
works, which specifically distinguishes them from those of his 
predecessors, and bestows on them, in spite of any excrescences 
in effects of melody and harmony, that rounding of the true 
line of beauty which is, no doubt, required in genuine classical 
creations. : 

In order to acquire the better qualities of his own peculiar 
method of production, it was necessary for Weber to submit 
himself to a severe course of that merciless self-criticism which 
is often fatal to weakly-endowed artistic natures, and which is 
generally so hateful even to the greatest. Berlin was evidently 
the best place for the encouragement of this difficult study in 
the young artist. Its advantage was stamped in the character 
which had been developed in the population of the Prussian 
- capital, since the days of the two pre-eminent geniuses who had 
been the leading influences of the great German Lutheran 
power, —the philosopher among kings, Frederick; and the 
king among philosophers, Kant. To this general tendency 
upon Weber’s mind contributed also the individuality of the 
personages with whom he was here brought together. No 
tender, loving, prudent father could have chosen them better 
to lead a genius of Weber’s peculiar temperament into the 
indisputably right path in which it was to reach its truest 
ends and aims. 

With Weber's sojourn in Berlin, in the year 1812, may be 
said to have closed the period of his talent’s youth, as clearly 
as that of his stormy, ill-regulated career was terminated by his 

13 


194 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


flight from Stuttgart in 1810. henceforth all his artistic pro- 
ductions were to be, without any swerving to the right or to 
the left, so many steps upward on that ladder of Art which 
was to lead him to the summit attained in “Der Freischiitz,” 
“ Euryanthe,” and “ Oberon.” 

Immediately on his arrival in Berlin, Weber was welcomed, 
in the friendliest manner, to the house of his friend’ Meyer- 
beer’s parents. In the princely and luxurious dwelling of the 
rich banker, he may be said to have found a home of unwonted 
comfort. With his arrival, however, commenced also the 
heavy struggle of an artist’s life. It was naturally his most 
ardent desire to see his opera of “Sylvana,” the best and 
greatest dramatic work which he had yet written, produced 
upon the Berlin stage, for the judgment of the leading spirits 
of North-German civilization. To carry this purpose into 
effect was indeed a struggle. The principal musical directors 
of the Berlin opera, Bernhard Anselm Weber and Righini, 
received him with repelling coldness, shrugged their shoulders, 
and told him, after a hearing of the music, that, although his 
opera gave evidences of musical talent, it presented too many 
difficulties for representation on the stage. The former even 
declared, in his usual coarse and repulsive manner, that it was 
a very crude work, requiring considerable revision. It may 
have been, that, in his controversies with the two old gentle- 
men respecting his opera, the young composer displayed a 
slightly-presumptuous confidence, which was looked upon as 
offensive; it may have been that the presence of a young 
artist, so rapidly rising into fame, was in no ways agreeable to 
old, conservative, “pigtail” views; but, at all events, both 
the men, who were at that time in the zenith of their influence 
and popularity in Berlin, proved themselves, less in word than 
in actual deed, his most decided adversaries. Even Iffland, 
the celebrated dramatic author, who had lately resumed the 
general direction of the theatre, clearly showed, by his marked 
attentions to Birmann and his disregard of Weber, on the 
occasion of a visit made to him by the two artists, how little 


— = 


——— 


ANTAGONISM. 195 


he was inclined to forward the views of the young composer. 
This struggle against such influential opponents, at his first 
start, nich crushed all Weber’s hopes. Fortunately, the zeal- 
ous and ardent recommendations of the young artist, in the 
letters of the Crown-Prince of Bavaria to Friedrich Wilhelm 
III., contrived to secure him a very amiable reception from the 
generally morose and uncongenial king; and, in the knowl- 
edge of the favorable feeling at court, the two old presiding 
genii of the opera felt themselves obliged to change their tac- 
tics, at all events in outward semblance. 

With Zelter, the director of the Singing Academy, and 
founder of the “Liedertafel,” a society for the cultivation of 
male voices only in choral practice, then first instituted, We- 
ber scarcely succeeded much better. Zelter was a rough, obsti- 
nate, rigid man, never known to yield except to Goethe, before 
whom, however, he bowed down and worshipped with nigh 
disgusting prostration ; and such a character was every way 
antipathetical to the lively, excitable, delicately-feeling nature 
of the young composer. But by introducing Weber into the 
“ Sing- Akademie,” where ladies, artists, oflicers, and government 
officials were alike subjected to the baton, which he wielded 
rather as a stick of punishment than a director’s truncheon, 
Zelter rendered the young artist a good service, by enabling 
him to study practically the tendencies and results of an insti- 
tution, then singular of its kind, but since so widely established 
throughout Germany. By the same means, also, Weber was 
enabled to study the constitution of the “ Liedertafel,” then 
composed only of men of proved artistic distinction. This 
latter institution — imitations of which have since flooded all 
Germany, to the serious detriment of its first purpose and feel- 
ing, — was, in many points of view, of more importance than 
was recognized by its own founder and supporters. By the 
means of united feeling in song, it had sown the seeds of united 
patriotic feeling in another sphere, — seeds which were fast 
sending forth shoots of political vitality, afterwards destined to 
bear fruits of great and significant importance. Love of coun- 


196 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


try had been sedulously burnt out of the land by the fire of the 
invader, and his allies and helpers. But the genius of poetry 
had preserved under the ashes the words, “ Fatherland,” 
“ Hearth and Home,” “ Freedom,” and “ Honor;” and these 
were found by noble, patriotic hearts, who sang them, in low 
tones at first, among themselves, until the sound swelled into a 
war-cry. 

Now, in Weber, whose life had been spent in wandering 
through the many then-existing little German States, a home- 
less youth, the whole feeling of the word “ Fatherland” had 
necessarily never been in any way developed; and thus the 
introduction of any strong political tendency, as a foundation 
for musical ideas in composition, had never as yet occurred to 
him. But the spirit which lay in the songs of the “ Lieder- 
tafel” could not fail to exercise its influence upon an impres- 
sionable nature like his. The spark received first burst into 
a flame in the composition of a cantata, entitled “Turnier- 
Bankett,” to words by Bornemann, which was produced in the 
month of June in the “ Liedertafel,” obtained a great success 
by its freshness and originality, was even praised by the can- 
tankerous Zelter, and long remained one of the great pieces of 
the institution upon notable occasions. The same freshly- 
awakened tendency, which was thereafter to contribute so 
greatly to Weber’s immortal fame, again broke forth, a little 
later, in a song composed for baritone voice, with accompani- 
ment of wind instruments, called “ Krieg’s Eid,” “The War 
Oath,” — a composition of grand and broad simplicity, which, 
when executed by the soldiers of the Brandenburg brigade, 
drew tears from the eyes of the captain and of the chaplain, 
Mann, who had himself suggested the composition to Weber. 

Through his introduction to the “ Liedertafel,” also, Weber 
made the acquaintance of a personage whose influence upon 
the musical life of Berlin was at that time extremely great, 
although now almost gone from the memory of man. This 
was Chamberlain Friedrich von Drieberg, a man of undoubted 
talent and vast acquirements, who had weakened his own nat- 


SELF-CRITICISM. 197 


ural great powers by scattering thcm on every side, and on the 
most heterogeneous subjects. At one time he would be occu- 
pied upon the invention of a diving apparatus; at another, 
upon a thick quarto volume on the “ Music of the Ancient 
Greeks,” one of his favorite subjects; now on an endless con- 
troversy on the science of acoustics; now on the composition 
_of operas, none of which, however, received more than a very 
fugitive success, except his “ Siinger und Schneider.” Drieberg 
was an open-hearted, amiable individual, although too prone, 
from the oracular character too freely granted to his opinions, 
to look upon himself as “ Sir Oracle” in person, in his judg- 
ments upon Art. Impressed, it would seem, by the powers of 
divination generally accorded to this singular man, Weber had 
the highest reliance on his opinion; and Drieberg at the same 
time, although always ready to stretch forth a gentle, helping 
hand, was never disposed to withhold the bitter cup of criti- 
cism from the lips of the artist, if he thought the unpalatable 
medicine necessary. Thus, when, after endless struggles, We- 
ber had succeeded, by the influential means of many persons in 
society, whose attachment and good wishes he had gained, in 
neutralizing the persistent opposition of his adversaries in the 
opera-house, and in obtaining at last the rehearsal of his opera 
of “ Sylvana,” although he had gained the suffrages of all the 
singers engaged, as well as of the choice public admitted on 
the occasion, he was met by a far severer criticism from his 
patron Drieberg than from the most depreciating of his ene- 
mies. Drieberg declared the music to be overladen with un- 
necessary effects, and obscure in intention, the vocal portions 
sacrificed to the instrumental, and — what was the cruellest 
cut of all to an artist — the whole composition wearisome from 
its monotony. Weber was struck down by this judgment. 
But his spirit of self-criticism was awakened. 

“There is much that is true in his remarks,” he wrote, on 
reaching home after this sad rebuff. “ Any new opera I may 
write shall be simpler in its effects. Many pieces, from com- 
pression, have lost their original musical character, and have 


198 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


become too varied in color. The instrumentation is certainly 
more labored than I should make it now, but still not more 
laden than in the operas of Mozart. His last remarks made 
me very sad; because J am unable to judge whether they are 
true or not. If it be true that I have no variety of ideas, then 
I have no genius, and throughout life have bestowed ail my 
energies, all my zeal, all my devotion, on an art for which God 
has given me no vocation. The uncertainty on this point ren- 
ders me wretched. I cannot sink into mediocrity. If I ean- 
not climb the highest step in the ladder, I had rather earn my 
scanty bread as a mere piano-teacher. But no! I will still 
.tread on in the path I have chosen. Perseverance wins the 
goal! But I must watch strictly over all I do. Time will 
show whether I have really honorably used the advantages 
bestowed on me.” 

No better picture can be given of Weber’s noble aspirations 
than in these few lines, written in the stillness of his chamber, 
for no eye but his own; so full of meekness, self-knowledge, 
and trust in his own honesty of purpose. Such lines were well 
engraved upon the heart of every genuine young artist. 

Nothing discouraged, after this outpouring of his feelings, 
Weber set to work upon a thorough revision of his opera, 
threw aside his two principal airs for tenor and soprano, and 
composed two new airs in their place. He was richly rewarded 
for his act of self-sacrifice, by the discovery that his dramatic 
intuition had gained in clearness and richness, and that his 
management of the means employed was more masterly than 
when the opera was originally composed. It was with a heart 
relieved of some of its weight, that he again sat in his little 
room to write in his diary the words, “My opera has won by 
these two new airs; and I have gained new notions about the 
true form of such pieces. I have remarked also that I must 
watch strictly over my manner of treatment. In the forms of 
my melodies the suspensions are too frequent and too promi- 
nent. I must also seek more variety in my tempos and my 


rhythms.” What self-criticism in these lines! The sharpest-~ 


—--: 


BERNHARD ANSELM WEBER. 199 
sighted critic could never have described the composer’s pecu- 
liarities, and the point at which he had arrived in his art, with 
greater clearness and precision. 

Extraordinary difficulties, however, in spite of the accorded 
rehearsals, still lay in the way of the production of “ Sylvana.” 
Capellmeister Righini fell ill, and went away to Italy, where 
he died in the August of the same year. The whole affair 
now remained in the hands of Bernhard Anselm Weber. 
There is no doubt that this distinguished musician had ren- 
dered great services, both as composer and director, to the 
development of German opera’ in Berlin. He had witnessed 
there, at the beginning of the century, the great fight between 
the Italian opera of the princes, and the German opera of the 
people; which had been decided, in favor of the latter, far ear- 
lier in the Prussian capital than in any other city in Germany. 
The thoroughly German feelings and predilection for German 
music in Bernhard Anselm Weber, united to his eminent tal- 
ents and his untiring zeal, had given him a very considerable 
preponderance in any struggle against the exclusively Italian 
school. The genuine German character of Carl Maria’s opera, 
which had indisposed Righini on its first hearing, could not, 
therefore, have prejudiced his colleague against the young com- 
poser; nor was Bernhard Anselm Weber known to be envi- 
ously hostile to rising talent. But still, he threw every avail- 
able hinderance in the way of the production of the opera; and 
his influence was great. On the one hand, as a severe formal- 
ist, of the school of the elder masters, he set his face stead- 
fastly against the novelties in the score of the young composer, 
which he looked upon as illicit departures from established 
rules, and, as such, unpardonable improprieties ; on the other, 
he had conceived a dislike to the young musician, from their 
very first interview, when Carl Maria had wounded him by his 
glowing admiration of Mozart, whom he himself had always 
undervalued. Another circumstance may also have contrib- 
ated to the antipathy of Bernhard Anselm to his young name- 
sake. No sooner had Righini left Berlin, than the report be- 

2 


200 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


came prevalent that Carl Maria was likely to receive the 
vacant appointment of musical director in his place; and the 
old master of the opera had evidently no wish to see a young, 
talented fellow, of lively temperament and energetic character, 
seated in rivalry by his side. The production of the young 
man’s opera might produce the very realization of his fears. 
Could he be expected, then, to lend a hand to promote so 
dreaded an event? On the contrary, Iffland was informed 
that the expenses-of the production would be enormous; the 
members of the company, that the difficulties of the music were 
insurmountable; and the public, in general, that so crude a 
work could not possibly do honor to the Royal Opera of Ber- 
lin. When, however, the rehearsals were undertaken, chiefly 
through the active instrumentality of Prince Radziwill, and 
the terrified opera-singers found that the music was greatly to 
their taste, a thousand little practical difficulties were sought 
out, to postpone the representation to an indefinite period. 
An interval of six weeks was thus made to intervene between 
the first rehearsal and the second. A less energetic nature 
than that of Carl Maria would have given up the affair as 
lost. 

During the period of these struggles and delays, Carl Maria 
had exercised his usual spell of amiability over new friends 
and acquaintances, of whom a rich store gathered around him. 
In none of the many houses he visited was he received with 
more distinction and friendliness combined, than in that of 
Prince Radziwill. The prince, himself a composer and excel- 
lent violoncello player, opened his palace, not only to the great 
aristocratic society of Berlin, but to all artists of note. Good 
music was cultivated in every form beneath his roof; and 
Weber was ever welcome. Indeed, the young composer seems 
to have won the heart of the dilettante prince, by reconstruct- 
ing the adagio of his own quintet in B, in compliance with 
the suggestion of his Mecwnas. Surrounded thus by many 
distinguished men, among whom was the old poet and novelist 
Tiedge, and women of rank, note, and charming manner, Carl 


PRINCE RADZIWILL AND LICHTENSTEIN. 201 


Maria found two persons to whom his heart attached itself 
with that warmth of affection which was so characteristic of 
his impulsive nature, although after different fashion. The 
one was the author Heinrich Lichtenstein, afterwards so cele- 
brated as a zoologist, who had just returned from an exploring 
journey in Southern Africa, with a very considerable reputa- 
tion. Lichtenstein was an individual who was sure to attract 
a temperament like that of Carl Maria. His enthusiastic im- 
pulsiveness, his seductive amiability, and his) clear judgment, 
which, as Weber expressed it, “took the spectacles of passion 
and prejudice from every man’s nose,” combined with his in- 
disputable talent, were in themselves attractive. His form 
was short, but broad-shouldered and vigorous ; his features 
were marked and somewhat Jewish. The quality of his voice 
was kindly and winning; and he possessed the precious secret 
of being able to win the hearts of all whom he thought worth 
his while to win. No wonder that this charming man, distin- 
guished at the same time for his scientific attainments, his 
musical knowledge, and his genial social qualities, should have 
exercised a powerful influence over the talent, mind, and man- 
ners of the young composer. The other personage was Ama- 
lia Sebald, the younger of two beautiful and highly-gifted 
sisters, who were devoted to the cause of music. She possessed 
a magnificent voice. Carl Maria was fascinated, and conceived 
for her a warm and profound affection, but as respectful as it 
was ardent. The lady married shortly afterwards, and the 
dream was at an end. 

With so many attached friends, who had his interests deeply 
at heart, Weber was induced to arrange two concerts, which 
took place in the month of March, in the concert-room of the 
theatre, in conjunction with his friend Birmann. But once 
more was his “evil star” in the ascendent. It seemed to owe 
him now a long-delayed grudge, in compensation for his other- 
wise pleasant fortunes. It visited him in the double form of 
disastrous intelligence from the seat of war, and the most ap- 
palling weather. As far as pecuniary results were concerned, 


202 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


the concerts were thorough failures. At the first, the king was 
present, and the applause of the scanty audience enthusiastic. 
At the second, the overture of “ The Ruler of the Spirits” ex- 
cited an unusual sensation ; whilst the young artist’s improvi- 
sation upon a thema from the “ Zauberflote,” given him on the 
spot by the Princess Radziwill, roused the liveliest astonish- 
ment among all, musicians as well as dilettanti, by its won- 
drous richness of musical ideas, mastery of harmonies, and 
manual facility, and called down unanimous applause. One 
result, at least, was gained by these concerts. ‘The most favor- 
able judgment was generally aroused for the young artist’s 
forth-coming dramatic composition. Under the pressure of 
public opinion, and of the repeated expostulations of Weber’s 
warm friends and admirers, it became impossible to postpone 
much longer the production of “ Sylvana.” Both Bernhard 
Anselm Weber and Iffland were obliged to give way. The 
representation was announced. 

But, though the guiding spirits of the opera-house were thus 
- compelled to yield, every preparation was made with an econ- 
omy, which, however worthy of a better cause, now appeared 
meanness. No expense was allowed for scenery, dresses, and 
decorations. Not one single scrap of scenery was painted 
new; the oldest and most worn-out costumes seemed purposely 
selected from the wardrobe. During the rehearsals, the feud 
between the two Webers reached its climax. Carl Maria de- 


manded the conductorship of his own opera, and was rudely 


refused; although, on the first representation, the bd/on was at 
last reluctantly conceded to him. Irritated by Bernhard An- 
selm’s open intrigues against the production of the work, and 
his visible determination to treat it as scurvily as possible, the 
young composer was, no doubt, too sharp and decided in his 
behavior to the old musician ; but in return he knew himself 
to be assailed with abuse as a “ pert, presumptuous, Swabian 
puppy.” The opera, however, was well “cast.” Madame 


Miiller, long the especial favorite of the Berlin stage, was the 


“ Mechthilde ;” Fraulein Maass played and danced the part 


head 


WEBER’S FEELINGS ON SUCCESS. 203 


of “Sylvana” with charm and expression; Eunicke, the tenor, 
sang “Rudolph” admirably. The orchestra and choruses, 
when once they had overcome all that was new and unusual in 
the originality of the composition, had studied the score with 
unwonted zeal and pleasure. The first representation of the 
opera was fixed, at last, for the 10th of July. 

The night arrived. Weber, as he wrote to Rochlitz, was 
“resioned to his fate, whatever it might be,” when he entered 
the orchestra to conduct his work. All went well, however ; 
and the admirable self-possession and precision of the execu- 
tants was openly ascribed to the quiet, firm, intelligent con- 
ductorship of the composer. From the commencement to the 
end, from the overture to the finale of the third act, almost 
every piece was rapturously applauded. At no one moment 
was the success doubtful; and loud cries of “ Bravo, Weber!” 
in general acclamation, resounded through the whole house 
when the curtain fell. Not only for one night was the success 
triumphant, — on every other subsequent representation was 
popular favor as enthusiastically expressed; still more, the 
laudatory judgment of the press was, beyond all precedent, 
unanimous. 

The burst of gratitude for this success is recorded thus in 
the young composer’s diary: “Thank Heaven, spite of all 
cabals, the good cause has won the day!” Further on, he 
writes again: ‘“ Even my enemies now confess that I have 
genius; and now, although I feel and acknowledge my defects, 
I will not lose self-confidence, but march on with courage on 
the path of Art, although with circumspection and watchful- 
ness over self.” To his friends Danzi and Rochlitz he wrote a 
brief and simple account of his triumph, with the same mod- 
esty of which the lines above cited are so highly characteristic. 
Indeed, in both these letters he appears more interested in the 
affairs of those he cherished than in his own. In that to Roch- 
litz he says, with quiet pathos, “I am now alone; my good 
Birmann has left me to return to his home, his dear ones, and 
his friends. I wander still amidst strange faces, and commune 


204 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 
with strange souls.” The impression made upon him by his 
success is most apparent in his eager desire to recommence 
dramatic composition. To Rochlitz he writes, “I am still in 
a miserable plight for the poem of an opera. The confounded 
poets (no personal allusion, please!) are so difficult to catch. 
Julius von Voss here has talent and facility; but he has just 
as much indolence, and ten,times more caprice.” Again, to 
Danzi: “I want a new subject for an opera terribly, and can- 
not get one. I ought to-be at work on a score for the Prague 
Theatre.” 

But, in the midst of his first flush of success, Weber had a 
far heavier weight of sorrow in his heart. It was during the 
struggle waged relative to the production of “Sylvana,” that 
Carl Maria had received from Gottfried Weber a letter which 
fell upon’ him like a thunder-bolt. It announced the death of 
his father. Old Franz Anton had laid down his uneasy, excit- 
able, bewildered head to rest, on the 16th April, in his humble 
dwelling at Manheim. He had died somewhat suddenly, at 
the age of seventy-eight years. The strange, vain, bombastic 
old gentleman, who had played so important a part in all the 
earlier scenes of the drama of Carl Maria's life, was no more. 
In latter years his mind had become more and more confused, 
—his sense of right and wrong, of truth and untruth, more 
perplexed; and his wretched interference in his son’s affairs 
had been the cause to the unhappy young man of many a 
misadventure, many a bitter grief. But, in the heart of his 
sorrowing son, there was no thought of aught but that he 
had lost a father, rich in many gifts, who had tended him 
with love and affection, and fostered his budding talent with 
pride. In his note-book stand the words, “He fell asleep 
at last, they say. May Heaven grant him, in another 
world, the rest he knew not here! It is an almost intol- 
erable pain to me to think that I have not been able to 
bestow on him happier days. May God, in his mercy, bless 
him for all the love he bore me, all the love I so little 
deserved, and for the education he bestowed on me.” This 


WEBER AN ORPHAN. 205 


loss, combined with the feeling that he had no longer in the 
world even the semblance of a home, smote Weber to the heart. 
“T am now indeed alone,” he wrote to Rochlitz: “the conso- 
lation that I may still have a home in a friend’s heart is my 
only support. You are right, I know: this perpetual wandering 
cannot be good forme. But how can I do otherwise than seek 
a fitting arena for the true exercise of my art? With time 
comgs counsel. Meanwhile, I must go on my weary way, doing 
my best.” 

It was fortunate for Weber that this sorrow fell upon him 
at a time when exertion was necessary for the production of 
his opera, and when literary and musical labors fell unusually 
heavy on his shoulders; and that he was thus prevented from 
falling into a state of moody dreaming, which would necessa- - 
rily have produced a fatal collapse of mind. His forced activity 
at this period was prodigious. Beyond his literary notices, 
which were manifold, and the compositions already mentioned, 
he had written three songs, the most characteristic and charm- 
ing of which was “ Du liebes holdes himmelstisses Wesen,” — a 
composition full of passion, warm from the artist’s soul; a fresh, 
sparkling piece for four voices, “ Zur Freude ward geboren;” 
a chorus for the birthday of old Beer the banker; a piece fon 
six voices, “ Lenz erwacht und Nachtigall;”’ other songs, and 
several piano pieces, among which was the pianoforte arrange. 
ment of his own “ Sylvana.” 

Bat more soothing to Weber’s troubled mind than all his 
labors was the unexpected arrival in Berlin of his old friend 
Berner, now chief organist in Breslau. The companion of his 
stirring youth appeared upon the threshold of his chamber; 
and with him seemed to come back all the sunny pictures of 
the past. From the moment of Berner’s visit, Weber never 
left him. They lived the same life, as one heart and soul; 
played in the same concerts; ate at the same table. In the 
concert given by Berner on the organ in the garrison church, 
Weber, if he co-operated no further, at least turned over the 
pages of the music for his dear old “chum.” Nething, indeed, 


206 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


was more characteristic of Carl Maria than the fact, that, as 
firmly as he clung to those he had once named friends, so firmly 
also he knew how to attach the chosen ones, for life and for- 
ever, whom he had once called his “brothers of the soul.” 
Never was this important art, by the exercise of which his 
intellectual beauty touched the heart as much as woman’s 
charms, more signalized than in Berlin, where, in all his 
friendship’s relations, hearts flocked around him with every 
demonstration of attachment, in honor of his moral worth as 
much as of his genius. Of Weber’s life in the Prussian capi- 
tal his firm ally, Heinrich Lichtenstein, has given, in his 
works, a rich, warm, and detailed description. A few extracts 
from it may prove of value in the estimation of his character, 
as well as his peculiar talent. 

Lichstenstein had made Weber’s acquaintance at the “ Sing- 
Akademie.” “ When all was over,” writes Lichtenstein, in his 
memoir, “ we walked away together. So charming and clever 
was Weber’s conversation, so prepossessing the manner in 
which he discoursed of Art in general, and of the Institute and 
its workings in particular, that it was impossible to say ‘ Good- 
by,’ and we remained together until late into the night. After 
that we saw each other frequently.”... They met in many 
of the best houses in Berlin. “ Weber was as great a master on 
the guitar as on the piano,” continues Lichtenstein: “ he used 
to sing us his own songs, which were not then generally 
known, with a somewhat weak but charmingly seductive voice, 
and with inimitable expression; his accompaniment on the 
cuitar was the most perfect thing of the kind ever heard, and 
won all hearts. When thus he had roused the company, assem- 
bled often in the open air around the tea-table, to a pitch of 
unwonted excitement, he would take up at hap-hazard one 
of the great works that might be lying there, and so exercised 
all the wondrous powers he possessed, that every one seemed 
to think he had never heard the work played before, had never 
known its truth and force till then. ... Sometimes, inspired by 
some song just sung, he would sit down and carry out all the 


\ 


LICHTENSTEIN ON WEBER. 207 


beauties of the musical idea in extempore fantasias; and then, 
by his complete power over the instrument, his bold mastery 
of every difficulty in execution, and his clear precision in all 
the rules of harmony, he would produce a marvellous effect, 
such as had been never hitherto known in the art of piano- 
playing. ... Young artists fell on their knees before him; 


others embraced him wherever they could get at him; all 


crowded around him, until his head was crowned, not with a 
chaplet of flowers, but with a circlet of happy faces. A solemn, 
almost melancholy, air would pervade Weber’s whole being at 
such moments; and he would play on, until late into the night, 
with a feeling which was unsurpassable. In such moments, his 
improvisations differed wholly from similar performances of 
pianists of greater note, such as Hummell and Kalkbrenner. 
In all the efforts of the latter, little as they may have intended 
it, there was always a consciousness of a desire to please. The 
impression conveyed by Weber was that at such times he had 
first found a voice, which enabled him to reveal the deepest 
feelings of his soul to his beloved friends, and that he only 
thought how to make those feelings clear and comprehensible.” 
... In mixed society, when Weber’s soul was not attuned to con- 
geniality of feeling, his inspiration has been known to fail him. 
“Tn our own select circle, when there was no music, Weber 
would delight us with his merry tales, and more especially his 
musical anecdotes, of which he had an inexhaustible store. He 
would then mock with sportive wit the absurdities and affecta- 
tions of dilettante musicians, or treat in more earnest spirit 
the supposed secrets of composition with which some musicians 
sought to mystify the world.... We seldom separated until 
late; and even then wandered together to and fro in the night 
air.” He was very fond of giving serenades; “and, in time, 
we arrived at such a pitch of perfection in this pastime, under 
Weber’s command, that we could master the greatest diffi- 
2ulties.” 

In treating the subject of the production of “ Sylvana,” and 
the difficulties with which Weber had to contend, Lichtenstein 


208 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


writes thus of the hostility which existed between the young 
composer and the operatic powers: “ Somehow Weber never 
could make his way with the great masters of the time at Ber- 
lin. They treated him as a young fellow of no importance; 
and he responded to their pedantic tone by an assumption 
of confidence, not unmixed with irritability. Bernhard Anselm 
Weber and Zelter were more especially hostile to him. With 
this his personal appearance had somewhat to do. They never 
could forgive the assumption of vigor in that apparently weak, 
frail form, which contrasted so strangely with their own lusti- 
ness. This mutual dislike lasted in all until their deaths; al- 
though it never led to any violation of due decorum or want 
of self-respect in their social relations. To the last none 
would do justice to the works of the other. I myself, as well 
as many others, made every attempt to reconcile the hostile 
spirits; but all our best efforts remained futile.” 

“ Weber’s sojourn in Berlin was in many ways advantageous 
to him,” writes Lichtenstein, in another portion of his memoir ; 
“it even determined the character of his life. In earlier years 
he had been much addicted to youthful follies, had been 
troubled by debts, and weighed down by pecuniary embarrass- 
ments. On the one hand, the devoted circle of friends that 
clustered round him in Berlin; on the other, the success of his 
opera, and the remuneration received from Schlesinger, the 
publisher, — effected a change both in his moral and material 
condition, by bestowing on him a greater balance of character, 
and a firmer basis of fortune.” Only partially, it would seem, 
were these words of Lichtenstein- true. Whatever the influ- 
ence of Berlin on his moral status, the great change in his ma- 
terial interests was yet to come. 

In the month of August, Weber’s days in Berlin were num- 
bered. His activity during this period was undiminished. 
Some of his songs then composed, among which may be men- 
tioned, “ Frei und froh mit munterm Sinn,” “ Liebe’s Gliihen,” 
and that beautiful piece for three voices, “ Heisse stille Liebe 
schwebet,” marked a period of importance in the development 


DEPARTURE FROM BERLIN. 209 


of Weber's genius in this species of composition; and the free, 
fresh, spontaneous geniality of these exquisite Lieder seems 
almost as strangely out of place in an atmosphere impregnated 
with tea, pedantry, philosophy, Righini-ism, and Sing-Akade- 
mie formalities, as was the Italian element of Weber’s canzo- 
nettes on Swiss mountain-sides, or on the waters of the Rhine. 
His days in Berlin were indeed numbered; and he was shortly 
to bid adieu, as well to all the many distinguished personages, 
intercourse with whom had given so important and excellent a 
direction to his individuality, as to the many friends and genial 
young artists who clung around him with respect and love. It 
was a sad task to part from all. Many had been the joyous, 
genial, affectionate spirits, among whom his life had been 
lived, and the breath of his inmost soul had been breathed. 
Hard it was, also, to depart from the merry circles which had 
been founded in earnest jest and sensible nonsense: the associa- 
tion of the “ Musical Weaver (Weber) ’Prentices,” of which he 
was the leading spirit; or the band of “ Musical Cossacks,” of 
which he was the recognized chief, and to which he afterwards 
addressed humorous “ bulletins,” “ orders of the day,” and “ war- 
rants of arrest” for the apprehension of deserting members, all 
conceived in clever parody of such governmental despatches 
of the period. But the time was to come: it came. 

A few days before Weber’s departure from Berlin, a festive 
leave-taking was prepared for him in the house of Justice-Com- 
missary Hellwig, at which his choicest and dearest friends 
were present. The secret of the féte was carefully kept from 
him; and great was his surprise when he was received by a 
chorus in his honor, parodied from Mozart’s “ Seraglio.” New 
compositions had been written likewise for the occasion; and 
a humorous address in verse, in which musical composition was 
confounded with the art of weaving, in punning allusion to his 
name, was pleasantly delivered and pleasantly accepted. But, 
after all, the occasion became too sad for jest. Weber him- 
self could not shake off the deep melancholy which fell upon 
him at the thought of parting. The brilliant supper had no 

14 


210 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


charms for him. He rose from table, sat down to the piano, 
and after a lengthy prelude, in which he sought to recover his 
self-possession, poured forth a song of gratitude for friendship 
and affection—the song afterwards known as “Sind es 
Schmerzen, sind es Freuden,” to words by Tieck — which 
brought tears into every eye. 

The parting from the excellent parents of his friend Meyer- 
beer cost Weber more than all. In their hospitable house, for 
more than half a year, he had found a home, —a home not only 
of comfort and luxury, but a home of the heart for the home- 
less orphan. “This parting has been very painful,” wrote 
Weber himself. “Where can I find such good, loving souls 
again? God bless the dear ones! They tended me as their 
child.” 

It was the long-standing invitation of the Duke of Gotha 
which had determined Weber on this step. After a short 
delay in Leipsic, where the sale of his overture, “The Ruler 
of the Spirits,” his variations on the air in Mehul’s “ Joseph,” 
and other pieces, somewhat helped to restore the condition 
of his still scanty finances, and where his friend Rochlitz gave 
him new words for a hymn, beginning “In seiner Ordnung 
schafft der Herr,’ Weber proceeded on to Gotha. Here he 
arrived on the 6th of September. 

The kindly and affectionate nature of the reception of the 
young composer at the court of Gotha was signally evidenced 
by a characteristic letter from the Prince Friedrich, who was 
then taking the waters at Spii for a terrible illness. “ Weber 
will shortly arrive,” he writes, in giving his directions; “ he is 
to be lodged in my house: I advised him of this to-day. Let 
him be received in the most friendly and kindly manner. Let 
the blue chamber in the corner next the street be prepared for 
him, and a piano, which must be hired, placed in the room; 
pen, ink, and paper, and lights, of course; every thing provided 
for his food. On my return he will daily have a place at my 
table.” 

“On my arrival here,” wrote Weber to Rochlitz, a few days 


WEBER AT GOTHA. 21% 


after his return to Gotha, “I was received by the Duke with 
affection as well as friendliness. J have a charming room in 
Prince Friedrich’s palace. I have already accompanied the 
Duke to Reinhartsbrunnen, where I was obliged to set both 
hands and lungs at work immediately. Now he is off on a 
journey; and I have time for work by myself. I have not 
spoken to him yet of my future plans. In the first place, I 
don’t want to take him at once by the throat; and, secondly, 
he seems to have an awful desire to keep me here.” 

Spite of the amiable friendliness of the Duke of Gotha and 
his wife, a princess of Hesse Homburg, Weber’s intercourse 
with this potentate was not of a nature to be congenial to an 
artistic spirit conscious of its own settled purpose, and desirous 
of pursuing its own vital ends and aims. He felt like a noble 
steed, who has an unsteady rider on his back, now pulling him 
to the right, now to the left, now urging him on, now checking 
his career, always fatiguing and distressing him. Genial as 
was the Duke, his eccentricity was so uncertain, his flow of 
ideas so variable, and his sudden impulses so ill regulated, that 
it was almost impossible to follow him in all his wondrous 
changes of spirit and thought. His daily doings resembled 
the style of his own poems and works of fiction, in which the 
richness of thought was never fully developed, the highly-col- 
ored ideas trod on each other’s heels, plans were confused, and 
effects unconnected, although all was pervaded by the pro- 
foundest feelings and noblest principles. With all the love 
and respect which his character inspired in those around him, 
his eccentricities were a torment, especially to well-ordered 
artistic natures. 

Weber, and frequently even the reluctant Spohr, and Meth- 
fessel, who was also at Gotha at this period, were obliged to 
travel with the Duke from one place of residence to another at 
a moment’s warning, and, on any caprice, there to accompany 
his poems with melodramatic music, and his improvisations by 
chords on the piano or guitar. Now the Duke would fancy 
that-a song would tell well as a march; and the required 


212 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 
/ 

change of instrumentation had to be made on the spot. Now 
his own compositions were to be tried with new effects, which 
sometimes even excited his own derision on their execution. 
Now, again, the musician was requested to sit and improvise at 
the piano while the Duke read. On these occasions the tears 
would sometimes start into the prince’s eyes, and he would 
overwhelm the artist with his fervent expressions of gratitude. 

The daily intercouse with so strange a personage, more es- 
pecially when a prince, could not but be very trying to a ner- 
vous system constituted as was Weber’s. The harassing ex- 
citement increased, when, a few days after Weber’s arrival 
in Gotha, the Duke was confined to his chamber by illness, and 
occupied every body around in the most restless fashion. He 
never failed, however, to recognize the attentions he exacted, 
with expressions of gratitude which were almost affecting. 
He endeavored to conciliate by little presents, often of the 
strangest kind. Now he gave Weber a handsome seal; now 
an inkstand, a waistcoat, a pair of silk stockings, a cloak. 
When particularly disposed to show favor, he would bestow on 
the artist, out of his extraordinarily-valuable collection of an- 
tiquities and curiosities, a little ring, or some object of the 
kind, which had scarcely any worth except for a museum. 

With Prince Friedrich, the intercourse of Weber’s daily life 
was wholly different, but scarcely less worrying. The prince, 
who was a devoted admirer of Italian music, and a good singer 
himself, was never weary of going through the scores of Italian 
operas with De Cesaris, the teacher he had brought with him 
from Italy, surrounded by all the male and female singers and 
musicians of the operatic troop. On such occasions Weber was 
obliged to sit half the day at the piano. It is true that he thus 
made acquaintance with a mass of excellent Italian music, the 
study of which could not be otherwise than advantageous to 
him; but the gain thus acquired could have borne no pro- 
portion whatever to his sacrifice of precious time and trouble. 
During an entire month at Gotha. instead of enjoying the re- 
laxation he had fondly hoped to find when he accepted the 


INFLUENCE OF OTHER ARTISTS. 213 


Duke’s invitation, he experienced only prostration of mind and 
body. No wonder, then, that, in all his letters of the period, 
he should have yearned, with somewhat bitter feelings, for the 
more sober intellectual life of the last months at Berlin, as well 
as for the bright, inspiriting influence of the friends be had left. 
“IT can only preserve my wonted cheerfulness,” he wrote to 
Lichtenstein, “ by the constant indulgence of a pleasant dream, 
that Iam not severed from you ‘all, but that I am only on a 
ramble, and must soon be home again. But still I feel myself 
growing more grave, spite of myself: I will make every effort, 
however, not to let myself sink too low; all the more as I have 
here no tuning-key to tone me up again, except my own good 
spirits.” “The Duke is very kind,” he wrote again, “ anil 
shows his care and thought for me, even in the smallest mat- 
ters, in a way that does my heart good. But he is away now 
for a week ; and I can find time for work, which, with Heaven’s 
help, I shall employ industriously. I have much, very much, 
todo. The quiet of this place is almost the stillness of death ; 
but it is soothing, and, just now, to me indispensable.” 

Spite of the harassing excitement, however, which was so 
wearing to the young composer, there were many elements of 
musical cultivation in Gotha, which could not fail to exercise 
a material influence upon the general extension of Weber's 
genius. Artists of distinction and talent were assembled there 
in abundant store. Among these he may be said to have de- 
rived the most durable and deepest impression from his artistic 
intercourse with Spohr, whose “Last Judgment ” he read 
through, and studied under the composer’s own eye. Methtes- 
sel may have left some traces also. Nor can his constant close 
connection with De Cesaris have been without importance on 
his gradual development. Through the latter he became bet- 
ter acquainted with Italian operatic music, comprehended more 
clearly the working and result of its effects, and found a little 
treasure of fresh hints and new ideas. Weber was not the 
man to disdain to learn*the “art of fence” even from his 
enemies. 


214 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


During Weber’s sojourn in Gotha, he had few opportunities 
of displaying his remarkable talents in public. The two best 
occasions were afforded by two concerts given in the Margaret 
Church in Gotha, on the 29th and 30th of September. At 
each, however, an untoward accident disturbed the pleasure 
and harmony of the performance. During the first, the new 
strings of the instrument on which Spohr’s wife, Dorette, the 
most celebrated harpist of her time, was playing a sonata for 
harp and violin with her husband, gave way, — a pedal stuck, 
—and the lady was so upset that her piece could not come to 
its conclusion. During the second, Weber found the piano, on 
which he was to play his own variations on the air in Mehul’s 
«“ Joseph,” so completely out of tune that play, patience, tem- 
per, all fell into marvellous discord. Two concerts, however, 
in which Weber co-operated, were given at court, on the occa- 
sions of the Duke’s and Prince Friedrich’s birthdays, the 2d 
and 28th of November. The second especially remained long 
impressed upon the memory of the court society of Gotha. 
Never, perhaps, did Weber create a greater excitement than 
by his wonderful improvisation on this occasion. The Duchess 
had given him the minuet out of “ Don Juan” as a subject, to 
which the Duke had added two other motives as heterogeneous 
as possible in character, in order to increase his difficulties, 
laughingly saying, “I think I have tamed the young lion now.” 
But Weber’s spirits were hich that evening. Difliculties were 
feathers to him in his brilliant state of mind; and he dashed 
into his task, as if borne upon an irresistible torrent. of artistic 
power. Now varying each theme severally, now weaving all 
the three together until they formed a new and enchanting 
melody apart, now bursting into a rapturous jubilee of harmo- 
nies, he carried all hearers away on the powerful wings of his 
own inspiration. He was implored to write down this mar- 
vellous performance; but he resisted every entreaty, as he 
always did‘on such occasions. The spirit of improvisation had 
soared to the heavens, and could be recalled no more. The 
usually cold temperature of courtly parties had been so fevered 


WEBER AGAIN AT WEIMAR. 215 


by this wonderful exhibition, that it was impossible to cool 
down. Until late in the night, on this one and most special 
occasion, was the whole court society spell-bound by unwearied 
efforts in music and song. When, in the small hours of the 
morning, Weber and Spohr were returning home, with some- 
what flagcing spirits, they came upon the barracks, where 
some Spanish soldiers, who were in garrison there during the 
war, were singing some of their national songs. The two 
musicians were surprised by the profound originality of these 
melodies; and tired as they were, regardless of the cold night 
air, they remained leaning against the barrack-walls, entranced, 
for two long hours, sucking in with delight this new source of 
inspiration. Weber is said to have been heard, about this 
time, humming melodies which afterwards found a form in his 
“ Preciosa.” 

During the period of his sojourn at Gotha, towards the end 
of October, Weber went over to Weimar for a few days, at the 
particular request of the Grand Duchess Maria Paulowna, who 
was very desirous of hearing him play his last compositions 
for the piano, and more especially the sonata which he had 
dedicated to her, as well as of taking a few lessons from him. 
Here, again, the young composer came in contact with the illus- 
trious poet Goethe. This time the great man appears to have 
met the rising artist with somewhat more civility, although 
without creating a much more favorable impression on the 
young man’s mind. “Ihave again been fortunate enough to 
be in Goethe’s society,” he afterwards wrote to Lichtenstein. 
“He went off to-day to Jena, where he is employed in writing 
the third part of his biography, not finding sufficient repose 
for the purpose here. There is something strange in the 
nearer communion with such great spirits. These personages 
ought always’to be looked and wondered at from a distance!” 
With Wieland it was again far different. The amiable old 
poet received Weber with cordiality once more, begged him 
to play again to the “old man,” and sat in rapturous delight to 
hear an improvisation, into which Weber interwove that bril- 


216 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


liant crescendo which afterwards became so celebrated in his 
performances. The impression made upon this prince of poets 
was evidently powerful and vivid. Seated at first in quiet 
enjoyment, he raised himself up, as note after note increased in 
vigor, rose from his chair, as if lifted up by an irresistible mag- 
netic power, and stood aloft trembling with excitement, until, 
as the music ceased, he fell back as if exhausted, and burst 
into tears. Overwhelmed with compliments and praises, and 
with a brilliant and very valuable ring upon hig finger, Weber 
had taken leave of his amiable patroness, the Grand Duchess, 
and returned once more to Gotha. 

It is patent from every source of information, that, during 
the whole period of his sojourn at the Thuringian courts, the 
feeling uppermost in the young composer’s mind was, that, 
spite all the kindness and distinction showered upon him by 
these enlightened personages of rank, he was squandering 
precious time to little purpose. This complaint was all the 
more bitter in him, as Gotha, but for the circumstances which 
surrounded him. seemed to be of all places the place, in its 
home-ishness and quiet, to inspire him to incessant production ; 
and, in truth, during these three months the results of his creative 
powers were very small. Only two works of any importance 
were produced by him. The one was the already-men- 
tioned hymn by Rochlitz. This composition was undoubtedly 
one of Weber’s weakest creations: it bears the unmistakable 
stamp of great labor, but without any genial flow of musical 
ideas. He had evidently forced his talent throughout, in order 
to do honor to the author of the words, whose good-will he 
was anxious to obtain, but without finding his task a labor of 
love. After many laborious changes he contrived to complete 
the little work on the 18th of November; and he sent it off to 
Leipsic as a sort of New Year’s souvenir to Rochlitz. The 
other composition was of far greater worth. This was his 
original and highly artistic pianoforte concerto in E, a compo- 
sition distinguished alike by its invention, arrangement, and 
execution. But even this piece bears evident traces of hot- 


COMPOSITIONS AT GOTHA. 2Le 


house forcing, and lacks the spontaneous fire and _brillianey 
which gave such genial warmth to his earlier productions of the 
same kind. Of his minor compositions written at Gotha, 
the most notable are a tenor air with double chorus, in Italian 
style, undertaken at the request of Prince Friedrich, and sung 
at the court concerts, six waltzes, and a charming new duet 
for his “ Abu Hassan,” added for a little representation of the 
work at a private theatre. 

But, whilst Weber’s musical production had been thus 
crushed to a great degree by the reckless exercise of his genius 
on fugitive fancies to please the variable and excitable Duke, 
his literary abilities had been greatly developed, as well in 
quality as in quantity, under the constant encouragement of 
his patron. Weber had read some chapters of his proposed 
work of fiction, “ An Artist’s Wanderings,” to the Duke, who 
had been so struck by the originality of the proposed novel, 
both in style and matter, that he had urged the young man to 
employ himself assiduously on the completion of his labors. 
He even offered to supply Weber with lyrical pieces of his own 
to be intercalated in the work. Such an offer it was nigh im- 
possible for Weber to refuse ; but he looked forward to the du- 
eal collaboration with intense terror. He knew how ill the 
Duke’s over-colored and bombastic style would accord with 
his own simplicity ; and he anticipated the patchwork result 
with disgust. Fortunately other occupations came in the way 
of the Duke ; and the few little poems he afterwards forwarded 
to Weber have since been lost. Weber’s critical nofices, how- 
ever, at this period, were numerous and excellent, but never re- 
munerated as musical effusions of such weight and value should 
have been. One of these articles, upon the mechanical trum- 
peter invented by his old Munich acquaintance Kaufmann, 
was connected with a curious anecdote, which Weber treated 
with a certain degree of romantic mystery, and was wont to al- 
lude to, in after years, with a sort of assumed awe. This curi- 
ous automaton, which excited considerable sensation by its 
performances on the trumpet, and looked like a diabolically- 


218 WEBER’S EARLY YEARS. 


inspired living thing, had one day, as if possessed by a demon, 
struck its inventor on the skull with its trumpet, stretched 
him senseless on the ground, and so injured one of his eyes 
that he remained blind for life. 

By the time that December arrived, Weber felt, that, in spite 
of all the kindness lavished upon him by the Duke of Gotha 
and his family, it could but prove detrimental to his true 
artistic career, should he prolong a sojourn which had now lasted 
more than three months. Perhaps the wandering spirit of the 
artist again exercised too powerful an impulse on him also. 
But another circumstance determined him in his intention, 
by rendering an increase of pecuniary resources necessary to 
him. Franz Anton had left many debts behind him. The 
loving son had but one feeling in thisemergency. The honor 
of his beloved father was to be rescued from all possible ob- 
loquy : he recognized the debts as his own. The poor, scanty 
remnants of his purse barely sufficed to reimburse his kind 
friends at Manheim for the poor old man’s funeral expenses. 
Above all, then, it was necessary to make money, in order, as 
soon as possible, to redeem his father’s obligations. In Gotha 
such a hope was futile. He resolved to wander forth again. 

At the express and frequently-repeated entreaty of the Duke, 
he remained on at Gotha until the 19th of December. After a 
brilliant concert at court, at which all his newest compositions 
were given, he took leave of Duke August with genuine and 
heartfelt emotion. It was no parting from a prince who had 
condescendingly encouraged and aided a strugeling artist: it 
was the farewell of an affectionate, grateful youth to an elder, 
well-tried friend. Amidst the presents with which Weber was 
loaded on his departure from the ducal family, the Duke him- 
self, who had heard of the young man’s filial piety, placed in 
his hand, with true delicacy, more substantial proofs of his re- | 
gard. 

After a short stay in Weimar, at the request of the Grand 
Duchess Maria Paulowna, before whose select little court he 
was again called upon to play, Weber arrived on the 26th of 


PLANS OF TRAVEL. 219 


December, in the most bitterly cold weather, at Leipsic, where 
he had promised to prepare every thing for the performance 
of his new hymn to the words of Rochlitz, at a concert to be 
given on New Year’s Day. The commencement of the year 1813 
was not without importance, then, for Weber. The hymn was 
duly produced, and excited considerable applause. That it 
was a composition unusually devoid of genuine inspiration has 
already been mentioned. But, for the young composer, it may 
be said that the words of Rochlitz were singularly incoherent, 
and far inferior in flow of ideas to the same author’s “ First 
Tone,” and that the sphere was one scarcely suited to Weber’s 
natural and peculiar talent. But the work was given well, 
upon the whole. The celebrated singer Albertine Campa- 
gnuoli, who was engaged for the solos, was a favorite of the 
public, and sure to command applause. Unfortunately in the 
final chorus, she sang so flat, that, as Weber notes in his diary, 
the cold sweat of terror burst forth alloverhim. Many pieces, 
however, excited the liveliest admiration ; and, what was still 
more precious to the artist, the professional musicians spoke 
so unreservedly and genuinely of the profound musical science 
displayed in the work, that the composer’s heart received the 
truest satisfaction. At the same concert, Weber’s newest 
pianoforte piece in E, composed in Gotha and Weimar, ex- 
cited the warmest enthusiasm. 

In Leipsie, Weber was able to dispose of his overture to 
“ Rubezahl,” and other pieces, to Kihnel the publisher. 
With an addition of eighty-eight thalers to his purse; he once 
more took up his wanderer’s staff to step forward on his far- 
ther progress in that journey which had been the main object 
of all his most cherished plans. Italy, Switzerland, and 
France were now included in his project. Two years, as he 
dreamed, lay before him, in which all might be done to com- 


fame. This journey he looked forward to, as the glittering 
summit of the existence of his fancy. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


CONDUCTORSHIP AT PRAGUE. 


PraGUuE, which was to be the first step in Weber’s journey, 
was reached on the 12th of January, 1813. Here he was re- 
ceived by his good friend Giinsbacher, with the news that 
Wentzell Miiller, the musical director of the Prague Theatre, 
had just resigned his appointment, to the great satisfaction of 
the public, aswell as his own; and that Liebich, the manager, 
was desirous of placing the vacant appointment in his hands, 
in order to have the advantage of his young blood in the de- 
sired new constitution and thorough regeneration of the oper- 
atic establishment. This intelligence took Weber wholly by 
surprise, and plunged him into a sea of doubts. On the one 
hand lay his dearly-cherished plans of travel, which were to 
bring him name and fame; on the other, an assured and hon- 
orable position, in which he would be able to exercise all his 
energies and abilities, to the furtherance of the best interests 
of Art. ‘The decision was no easy one. Gansbiicher dragged 
him almost by force to the houses of the great patrons of the 
theatre, Prince Isidor Lobkowitz, Burgrave Colowrat Lieb- 
steinsky, Count Clam Gallas, and the rich banker Kleinwiich- 
ter. All these highly influential personages pressed accept- 
ance of the offer upon him, with the most flattering assurances 
of their desire to retain him in their midst. The incense of 
the homage thus lavished on him began to mount to the young 

220 


WEBER’S NEW HOME. Psi | 


artist’s brain. But he still remained undecided. ‘Then Giins- 
bacher carried him off to the manager, with the laughing as- 
surance that “no one could ever refuse Papa Liebich what he 
asked.” And so it was. Liebich was irresistible. This tal- 
ented actor and amiable man, whose acquaintance Weber had 
already made with so much pleasure when last at Prague, 
whose management was unparalleled in the history of theatres 
for its honorable conduct, as well as its astuteness, and whose 
friendly and fatherly care for all the members of his company 
was patriarchal in its beneficent nature, exercised an inde- 
scribable influence over all who approached him, as well among 
the members of the aristocracy, who were proud to be guests 
in his hospitable house, as among the “ children” of his troop, 
who nicknamed him “ Papa.” Giinsbacher was right. In 
Liebich’s presence Weber could not say “ No.” In a few 
words the spell was worked; and Carl Maria had accepted the 
musical directorship of the opera of Prague, with perfect lib- 
erty to make what arrangements he chose in the re-organization 
of the operatic establishment, a salary of two thousand florins 
Viennese, a benefit guaranteed at one thousand florins more, and 
leave of absence for three months each year. The right road 
to take on his path of duty had decided him. “TI find it very 
difficult,” he noted in his diary, “to renounce my darling plans 
of travel; but, in order to have the delight of paying all my 
debts, as an honorable fellow, what would I not do?” 

Liebich insisted upon the payment of his salary, commen- 
cing from that day. At Easter the opera company was to be 
disbanded ; during the summer it was to be re-organized by the 
new musical director; and in September the operatic rep- 
resentations were to recommence. Journeys in search of 
fresh artists were meanwhile to be undertaken by Weber. But, 
above all, it was his desire to study first his new field of action 
in all its various bearings. Being obliged to form a household 
of his own for an indefinite time in Prague, Weber began ta 
revel in the new feeling that he had now a home. With that 
scrupulous care which characterized him more and more as 


222 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


years advanced, he sought himself out a dwelling, regulated 
all his domestic expenses with almost pedantic accuracy, 
bought all his little necessary requirements himself. with a 
strange sense of almost childish joy, and felt, for the first time, 
like a bird that has built its comfortable nest. The wander- 
ing artist now dreamed that he had at last found that aspira- 
tion of long time,—a home! In a brief space of time he cer- 
tainly felt himself “at home ” in the various circles to which he 
was introduced, and to which his talent and his amiability 
soon rendered him dear. In the house of Count Pachta, as 
well as in the families of the noblemen already mentioned, and 
many others, he was at once received on the most agreeable 
footing. His practised artist-eye scanned as speedily the gen- 
eral picture afforded by the state of musical cultivation at that 
time existing among the public of Prague. 

No people in the world, perhaps, were endowed with better 
musical dispositions than the Bohemians; and this natural tal- 
ent had been developed, for nearly a century and a half, by 
the peculiar tendency of the national education. Instruction 
in music and singing had been made, as early as the seven- 
teenth century, a fundamental portion of popular education, 
even in humble village schools; so much so, that, in common 
parlance, schoolmasters were generally termed “cantores.” 
There was not a school, therefore, throughout the country, that 
could not afford abundant material for choristers, whether for 
the churches, the conventual establishments with which the 
land abounded, or the many private choirs of the aristocratic 
families. No establishment among the wealthy Bohemian no- 
bles, who were themselves musicians of no ordinary stamp, 
was considered complete, unless it could afford the best of 
music for the delectation of the guests. Musical acquirements 
were considered in the choice and remuneration of domestics; 
and a visitor in a Bohemian family might see the man-cook 
appear as violinist, the jiiger as horn-players, the footmen as 
executants on the flute, while the steward would*take his place 
as capellmeister, and the master of the house would play 


MUSICAL ART IN BOHEMIA. : 223 


“second ” perhaps to his own valet. It would not, indeed, be 
too much to affirm that this general taste for music, which per- 
vaded a whole people from the highest to the lowest, in a sort 
of artistic democracy, and seemed to have become a portion of 
its very flesh and blood, founded, as it was, upon the best 
school of old, classical, church music, was the very soil from 
which the rich harvest of the many admirable works belong- 
ing to the period of classical chamber-music had sprung up. 
Under such circumstances, then, the musical public of Prague 
had received an education which enabled it to contest with 
Vienna the first rank in the connoisseurship of the time. It 
had even won an important victory over its rival, by its earlier 
recognition of the great genius of Mozart. To the Bohemian 
aristocracy, at the same time, was owing the establishment 
of the two great musical institutes of Prague, which flourished 
in the midst of many other minor undertakings, — the theatre 
and the conservatorium. The former had been built by Count 
Nostitz-Rhineck, and subsequently sold by him to a committee 
of noblemen, who had made: it into a “ national theatre.’”’ The 
latter, due to the idea of Count Pachta, was founded and sup- 
ported by a company of the leading nobles of Bohemia. 

At the period of Weber’s arrival in Prague, opera was evi- 
dently in a state of decline, however. Liebich, able director 
as he was, had obviously erred in his appointment of Wentzel 
Miiller as capellmeister. It was one which neither satisfied 
the taste of the public, nor the requirements of the orchestra ; 
and it was the consciousness of this evident failure which had 
induced Liebich to determine upon a complete dissolution of 
the old operatic establishment, and the re-orgnization of a new 
one. But Weber found other influences also at work in bring- 
ing about a general depreciation of public taste. The long war 
had greatly undermined the means, and weakened the artistic 
activity, of the once wealthy and zealous aristocracy of Bohemia. 
The political fermentation of the times had sundered ranks 
and nationalities, and split up society into small factions and 
coteries. General sociability and common feeling upon artistic 


224 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


matters had almost come to a stand-still. ‘The general public, © 
although yet jealous of its reputation of having given the tone 
to the musical world of Germany, had grown cold and uncer- 
tain in its judgments. The rapid appreciation of this state 
of things which Weber formed, when thus suddenly called 
upon to create a new operatic establishment, filled him with 
considerable alarm. He felt that the difficulties with which he 
had to contend were enormous. But, with a firm reliance upon 
the support lavishly promised him, the evident sympathy of 
public opinion in his favor, the unlimited powers placed in his 
hands by Liebich, and his own knowledge of stage require- — 
ments, he resolved to persevere. 

In the midst of his anxious preparations for his new career, 
and the arrangements for a concert which he desired to give, 
Weber found, however, time and thought for various new com- 
positions. His national song, “ Frage nur immer, fragest um- 
sonst,” his “ Sagt mir an, was schmunzelt Ihr,” one of the most 
original of his Lieder, to words by Voss, and other pieces of the 
kind, all belong to this period; and, in spite of all his pre-oc- 
cupations, he even listened to the entreaties of his old friend 
Brandt, the bassoon-player from Munich, to compose a piece for 
his instrument, and produced the “ Rondo Ongarese,” which 
has since been in constant request among all the performers on 
the bassoon. 

That Weber was fully conscious, nevertheless, of the im- 
portance of the task which lay before him, was clearly evi- 
denced by his answer to a letter from Rochlitz, entreating him 
never to lose sight of the truest interests of Art in his new posi- 
tion. “My will and purpose,” he wrote, “are fully in conso- 
nance with your own kind advice. . ... Never!—and I lay 
my hand solemnly on my heart as I say it, — never shall the 
confidence placed in me be misused for unworthy purposes. 
Should I ever appear to you to be swerving from the true path 
of Art, hold up these lines before me to my shame. They area 
sacred contract between me and Art, which I shall strive to 
fulfil with all my power to my last breath.” 


CAROLINE BRANDT. 225 


Weber’s concert, which took place on the 6th of March, was 
one of the most brilliant known for many a long day past, and 
brought him in the sum of six hundred and nine florins. Sey- 
eral of his own compositions were given on this occasion ; and 
both, artists and band co-operated with a zeal and fire which 
gave him the best hopes for his future direction of their forces. 
“T Jiave adversaries in plenty, I find,’ he wrote to Rochlitz, 
relive to the result of his concert. “ But these good gentle- 
mep give me but little uneasiness; and I continue to pursue 
my way in peace. If I find any truth in the sharp criticisms I 
receive, I mark it in the tablets of my brain, and let all the 
rest go to the winds. Some call my music ‘mystical ;’ others 
accuse me of only producing my own compositions; others 
again sneer at my appointment here. So be it! My whole 
life through I have owed much to hostility, inasmuch as it has 
always been my best spur to excellence.” 

One of the first consequences of Weber’s new position was 
the necessity of a journey to Vienna to hunt up the best artists 
open for engagements, either as singers or instrumentalists, for 
the operatic establishment to be formed at Prague. Liebich’s 
confidence in his talent as director was evidenced by the writ- 
ten full powers placed in his hand, to judge and engage what 
artists he pleased, and to sign contracts at his own discretion, 
without any further reference to the higher powers. By a 
strange coincidence, which seemed like a special intervention 
of the hand of Providence, Weber, when actually on the point 
of departing for Vienna, received a letter from Caroline Brandt, 
informing him that she was just then without an engagement. 
The new capellmeister remembered with pleasure the admira- 
ble performance of “ Sylvana” by this highly-talented young 
singer and actress; and he determined at once on securing her 
for the Prague Theatre, little foreseeing how that one act 
would determine the main direction of his own destiny. We- 
ber’s future wife was literally the very first individual whom he 
engaged for his new operatic company. 

In Vienna, for which place he started on the 27th of March, 

15 


226 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


Weber found many friends dear to his loving heart, and met 
other personages destined to exercise a considerable influence 
upon his future life. “ Papa Vogler” was there, again pos- 
sessed of the demon of restless wandering, and “ Brother Bir- 
mann,” giving concerts with distinguished success, and also 
the long-lost “little bear,’ now nineteen years of age, who 
was residing in Vienna in order to study Hummel’s style of 
playing. Meyerbeer at this period was at variance with the 
members of the “ Harmonic Society ;” and, as Weber could 
not be brought to approve what had passed, the relations of 
brotherly friendship between the two were sadly disturbed. 
“ There is no getting on with Beer,” wrote Carl Maria to Gott- 
fried Weber. “I met him with the old heartiness and affeec- 
tion, nor did he say a single word about any misunderstand- 
ing; but my old trust in him is gone. Birmann, and Vogler 
more especially, both complain that his pride and susceptibility 
are such as to repel every one from him.” In the musical and 
literary circles of Vienna, at the same time, Weber found him- 
self at once at home: his easy, pleasant manners found access 
everywhere, and everywhere secured appreciation. In the 
house of Castelli, the author, he met a society wholly conge- 
nial to his nature ; amidst which jest was mingled with earnest 
talk. Here every one supped at his ease, sending to a neigh- 
boring tavern for his food, and paying his own score. Theodor 
Korner, with whose name that of Weber was afterwards to be 
so intimately associated, had been one of this distinguished 
circle; but he had left Vienna but a short time before Weber’s 
arrival. It is a strange circumstance that the two men were 
never destined to meet. Better, perhaps, it was that it should 
have been so. In all probability no sympathy would have ea- 
isted between the melancholy, sentimental poet and the joyous- 
natured, practical composer. Weber loved society, and mingled 
in it freely at Vienna. ‘The sociability of the Austrian capital 
had lost but little of its magic charm through the evil influ- 
ences of the war, and still found a home, thoroughly enjoyed by 
Weber, in the houses of the bankers Arnstein and Eskeles, and 


WEBER AT VIENNA. OO 


of Counts Hennikstein, Dietrichstein, and Palffy. The last: 
mentioned nobleman, enthusiastically devoted to the drama in 
every form, was then the director of the three great theatres of 
Vienna. He conceived an extraordinary affection for Weber, 
and gave him undisguisedly to understand that he was sorry 
he had not engaged him as capellmeister in the place of Spohr, 
who had lately been appointed to the Theater an der Wien. 

But, meanwhile, Weber was industriously employing his 
time. He made visits on business, or received them from art- 
ists; heard and tested singers, instrumentalists, and choristers ; 
and pursued his own practical studies at the theatres. His 
theatrical connection brought him into contact with the famous 
balletmaster Duport, who afterwards rendered him such signal 
service in the production of his “ Euryanthe.” Now, too, he 
first met Mayseder, of whose talent he became a great admirer ; 
also young Moscheles; Hummel, whose style he thought “ cor- 
rect and hard ;” and many other musical men of note. With 
Salieri, spite all Vogler’s efforts, he would never form any 
friendship. Popular report had most unjustly connected this 
composer with the cause of Mozart’s death. Doubtless Weber 
never believed the cruel tale. But for him it sufficed that 
Salieri was known to have hated the beloved master; and his 
determination was simply expressed by, “ No: I will have noth- 
ing to do with him.” 

Generally speaking, Weber’s journey to Vienna was unpro- 
ductive of those fruitful results which both he and Liebich 
had anticipated, as regarded the engagement of first-rate sing- 
ers and instrumentalists. On the other hand, it had been 
of great service in enabling him to form a practical repertory 
of operas, by his constant study of all the works of every kind 
then being performed at the theatres, and to have their scores 
copied and collected. All this administrative business, how- 
ever, did not prevent the active artist from arranging a concert 
of his own, which took place as a morning performance in the 
Redoubten-Saal. What was very unusual, and indeed un- 
precedented, his improvisation, so wont to rouse enthusiasm, 


228 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


failed to please the critics so much as any other part of the 
performance on this occasion. His play wanted neatness and 
precision, they said, and was inferior to that of such pianists 
as Moscheles and Hummel. But indisposition had laid hold 
on Weber previously to the concert. During the morning he 
had needed all his courage to bear up against the insidious 
enemy. When all was over, he had sunk altogether. Without 
leave-taking, or terminating his affairs, he hurried as fast as he 
could back to Prague. He could scarcely reach his home: he 
was raving in a bilious fever. 

Weber was now sick to death; but’a Providence watched 
over him. By a fortunate chance Count Pachta, who was ig- 
norant of his illness, came to see him, and found him lying, 
without proper attendance, senseless on his bed. The kind 
nobleman ran fromthe house, procured a litter, and had him 
borne to his own mansion. Here all the resources of the 
wealthy and luxurious household were placed at the disposal 
of the suffering man. When after three weeks, during a por- 
tion of which Weber had lain between life and death, he was 
allowed once more to enjoy the sweet spring air, the count’s 
carriage, for a great length of time, daily bore the convalescent 
Weber to the beautiful new park of Bubentsch, or through the 
charming country around Prague. Nor was this looked upon 
by the amiable nobleman as any act of charity; to him 
it seemed but the duty of the worshipper of Art towards the 
artist. 

It was long before Weber could resume the administrative 
duties of his post. His first efforts were made in the regula- 
tion of the service of the orchestra, and a general ordinance 
relative to the business of those immediately connected with 
the stage. His intention was, although the newly-organized 
opera was not to commence until September, to prepare before- 
hand such a strict system of order, that all the regulations 
might be in full swing before the entrance of the new members 
of the company on their respective functions. ‘These innova- 
tions naturally excited such a storm of disapproval and oppo- 


WEBER’S ARRANGEMENTS. 229 


sition among the remaining members of the company, that the 
new capellmeister found himself obliged, in order to carry out 
his praiseworthy object, to dismiss a far greater portion of the 
troop than had been originally intended, and to hasten the ar- 
rival of Franz Clement, the new leader of the orchestra. ‘Thie 
artist Weber had engaged in Vienna, where his colossal mu- 
sical memory, which, on one occasion, had enabled him to write 
a pianoforte arrangement of the whole of Haydn’s “ Seasons” 
from recollection, had excited the young musician’s astonish- 
ment and admiration. 

Still weak from recent illness, the conscientious young capell- 
meister, who was resolved to employ all the energies of his char- 
acter in the right course, was nigh driven todesperation. “ The 
orchestra is in complete rebellion,” he wrote to Gottfried 
Weber; “and, in the midst of all this worry, I have to corre- 
spond with all the new members to be, engaged; to draw up 
their contracts; to bring the confused library in order, and 
write a catalogue; to correct scores; to prepare the scenarii 
of the operas first to be produced; to describe scenery to the 
painters, costumes to the costumers. And then, one is never 
left a moment in peace from the influx of people. I ought to 
go to Eger for the restoration of my health; but the press 
of business is so great, that any thought of the kind is impos- 
sible. I get up at six o’clock, and am often at work until mid- 
night. How happy shall I be when the great machine is at 
last put in movement! Then I shall feel that the victory is 
more than half won.” 

Prague, meanwhile, was assuming an entirely new physiog- 
nomy about this period. Fugitives from the scenes of war in 
Saxony and Prussia; statesmen and politicians, desirous of ob- 
serving the course of events as near as possible; and, finally, 
all the personages more or less connected with the Peace Con- 
gress, an attempt to establish which was made in Prague, — 
streamed into the Bohemian capital. The Emperor of Austria 
had taken up his residence at Brandeis, in the immediate 
neighborhood; and the Saxon Court had sought a refuge in 


230 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


the city, but lived in retirement in the Burg. Prague, gen- 
erally so quiet, not to say stagnant, in its outward aspect, was 
now teeming with life. Equipages, hurrying hither and thither 
from balls, dinners, and visitings, brilliant uniforms, gay 
dresses, and sparkling orders, dashed along the streets in 
“most admired disorder.” Innocuous swords clashed with far 
from innocuous pens. Prague had become the swarming ant- 
hill of statesmen, diplomatists, political literati, and all their 
countless hangers-on, — the focus of all hopes, fears, and con- 
jectures. 

It is one of the strangest turns in Weber’s destiny, that the 
world, misled by his well-known compositions of the period of 
the War of Liberation, should have given him the reputation 
of being a great political fanatic, enthusiastic for the cause 
of freedom and the independence of peoples. In truth, al- 
though his hatred of the French invaders, which had almost 
maddened him during his residence in Silesia, was always pre- 
dominant in his character, he associated himself in no way 
with the political fermentation of the times. No one known 
expression from his mouth, no remark in his letters, no sen- 
tence in his day-book, would lead to the supposition that he 
took any more active interest in the fluctuations of the great 
national struggle than was ordinarily taken by public opin- 
ion. With the greater portion of the political notabilities who 
-had come to Prague to hold a consultation over the sick-bed 
of Europe, and devise, as doctors, the proper medicine for her 
‘eure, Weber had but little community of feeling. But with 
other individuals whom the same occasion had more or less 
brought together, and who may be looked upon as playing not 
unimportant parts in the drama of his life, he was speedily in 
constant intercourse. In the house of Count Colowrat he 
made acquaintance with men of eminent talent and distinction, 
such as Niebuhr, Humboldt, Stein, and Schwartzenberg. But 
there were three personages who more especially exercised a 
material influence on the formation of his character in different 
ways. nae 


THE THREE FRIENDS. 234 


The one was the poet Ludwig Tieck, whom Weber had 
already met at Baden-Baden in the year 1810, and who, after 
a mysterious adventure in a small suburb theatre in Munich, 
had all at once sunk from a strong, handsome man, of energetic 
and fiery disposition into a weak, helpless, complaining suf- 
ferer; and although Tieck’s views, as regarded the vocation 
and working of the stage, were diametrically opposed to those 
of Weber, yet the profundity, learning, and intellectual weight 
of the great poet’s judgment considerably contributed to a 
solid modification of the young composer’s ultra-romantic ten- 
dencies. Then came Ludwig Robert, the talented brother of 
the talented and celebrated Rahel; sharp, sarcastic, epigram- 
matic, and realistic in his tendencies, who, by his keen percep- 
tion and his logical precision, held the romantic school, to 
which he belonged, from soaring into illimitable space. The 
third was Clemens Brentano, an author whose extraordinary 
character bordered on caricature. Tieck used to say of this 
singular man, that Brentano was “the most charming liar of 
his day,” and reminded him of the comic personages of the 
old Italian comedy. In truth, nothing could be more enchant- 
ing in its effect than the power of “improvisation,” as Clemens 
Brentano himself called it — of “lying,” as others would have 
it — which he employed on all occasions. He had been known 
to tell the same tale three times over, confessing each time 
that the previous version was a lie, with such a fascination as 
to make each in turn appear the solemn truth. His imagina- 
tion took the strangest flights; his turns of thought were as 
singular as unexpected ; his conversation, sparkling with wit, 
was irresistible. No wonder, then, that Weber should have 
been captivated, for a time at least, by the brilliant, amiable 
poet. His intercourse with the three talented celebrities was 
almost daily,—now in Liebich’s hospitable house, now over 
a bottle of Upper-Austrian wine in one of the better hostelries 
of Pracue; and there can be no doubt that the influence it 
worked upon his disposition and his views, especially when his 
intellectual capacities were not occupied upon musical produc: 


232 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE, 


tion, must have been as permanent as it was great. His 
* tendencies could not but have been affected, in one way or the 
other, by men of mark, who aspired, each in his own sphere 
of literature, to raise aloft that banner of the romantic school 
which he himself displayed in music. In the great contest 
fought under this flag, music, however, was more fortunate than 
poetry. It has been truly said, “What the romantic poets 
ambitioned to do, and could not, Weber willed to do, and 
did.” 

Meanwhile, as the summer was going by, the heavy adminis- 
trative business of his new position, only feebly depicted in 
his letter to Gottfried Weber, kept the young capellmeister in 
constant and fatiguing occupation. But to these labors he felt 
himself compelled to add another. Under his direction were 
many Bohemian officials, who conversed amongst themselves 
in the Slavonic tongue. Weber was, throughout life, suscepti- 
ble, and somewhat given to mistrust. He fancied that intrigues 
against him were going on before his very face. He had 
neither the right nor the desire to forbid the use of the Bo- 
hemian language among these people; so, in this dilemma, he 
adopted the resolution to study Bohemian himself. _ The task 
was a hard one, and needed all his firm will and energy of 
character to carry through; but he set himself to it with so 
much industry and zeal that, in a few months, no one could 
venture to speak in his presence words that he should not 
hear. 

On the 12th of August, when the new operatic company was 
nearly completed and assembled, Weber began the rehearsals 
of Spontini’s “ Cortez,” the first opera he intended for represen- 
tation in the repertory which he projected, with the hopes of 
giving two new operas, of greator or minor importance, every 
month. His activity was indeed astounding. Not only was 
he the musical director of the establishment, but, in practice, 
director of the orchestra, stage-manager, répétiteur of alk the 
artists, ay, even copyist of the music, scene-painter, and cos- 
tume superintendent, all in one. 


THERESE BRUNETTI. 233 


In spite of all these exertions, no event of any moment 
might have been said to have occurred to mark the even tenor 
of Weber’s life, had not fate determined that one personage 
should be thrown in his way who was to play an important 
part in his career. Among the troop now assembled at the 
theatre was a dancer, by name Brunetti, married for many 
years past to a woman, who, from the ballet, had risen to the 
operatic stage, where she sang the lighter parts with consider- 
able suecess. She was the mother of several children, but 
still possessed a considerable charm in her fine, plump figure 
and her beautiful blue eyes. She was as full of the absurdest 
tricks and caprices as she was lively and impetuous in tempera- 
ment; and, that her reputation of being a mistress of all the 
finest arts of coquetry did not belie her, Weber had soon to 
learn to his cost. Therese Brunetti was fond of attending the 
operatic rehearsals, even when not herself employed. On 
these occasions Weber was frequently thrown in her way; and 
he soon conceived for the handsome, seductive woman a pas- 
sion, which seemed to have deprived his otherwise clear mind 
of all common sense and reason, and which neither the flood 
of administrative affairs nor the cold breath of duty could 
extinguish. Vain were all his efforts to conceal it. In a very 
short time it became the topic of general remark; excited the 
ridicule or grave anxieties of his friends; involved him in a 
thousand disagreeable positions; robbed him of the most pre- 
cious treasures of a heart rich in love; lowered his moral 
character, without the slightest compensating advantage to his 
artistic career; and nigh dragged him down into an abyss 
beyond hope of rescue. 

The new opera-director was soon lodged in the house of the 
careless husband of the light woman. She herself may have 
had some inclination for a man who, in spite of his insignificant 
personal appearance, was always known to exercise a peculiar 
charm over women; she may have been flattered also by the 
preference of the genial young capellmeister. But, as soon as 
she felt her true power oyer him, she held out her fair hand 


234 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


only to lead him into a life of torment, now seeming to offer 
him a paradise of requited love, now dragging him through a 
purgatory of doubt into a very hell of jealousy. The contrast 
between the ardent, self-sacrificing affection of his honest 
heart, and the cat-like art with which she knew how to “ worry” 
every poor, outraged feeling beneath her cruel paws, was as 
affecting as it was painful. 

The woman’s power over her poor victim was immense. He 
was dragged in her train, against his better reason, to country 
excursions, suppers, balls, at which, whilst he watched her 
every look, her every breath, to discover her slightest wish, 
although nigh dead with fatigue, she would be bestowing her 
attention on other men, wholly regardless of her slave. Now, 
again, he would scour the town, in scorching heat or drenching 
rain, frequently sacrificing the only moments he could snatch 
from business for his dinner, to procure a ribbon, a ring, or 
some dainty, which she desired, and which was difficult to 
obtain; and on his return she would receive him, perhaps, with 
coldness, and toss the prize aside. Sometimes, when the proof 
became too evident that she had duped, deceived, betrayed 
him, the scenes between the two were fearful; and then she 
would cleverly find means of asserting that it was she who 
had the best right to be jealous, and thus turn the tables on 
him. By every thought, in every action, in every moment of 
his life, there was but one feeling ever present, — “ How will 
she receive me?” 

Even in his account-book, now so often neglected, are to be 
found the lamentations of his despairing heart over her un- 
worthiness; and then again, but a few hours later, expressions 
of delight that she had smiled on him. There is something 
terrible in the bitter slavery to which his better nature was 
condemned by this wild passion. One day he writes, “A 
fearful scene... . The sweetest dream of my life is over. 
Confidence is lost forever. The chain is broken.” On the 
next, “ A painful explanation. I shed the first tears my grief 
has wrung from me. . . . This reconciliation has cleared the 


WEBER’S LOVE-TORMENTS. 235 


thunder from the air. Both of us felt better.” And then 
again, “ She does not love me. If she did, could she speak 
of her first love and ali its cherished feelings with so much de- 
light ? Could she be so pitiless? No! my dream is over! I 
shall never know the happiness of being loved. I must for- 
ever bealone! ... She can sit near me, hours long, and 
never say one word; and, when some other man is mentioned, 
burst out in ecstasy. I will do all can to please her; but I 
must withdraw within myself, bury all my bitter feelings in my 
own heart, and work — work — work!” Again,in a few days 
afterwards, he writes, “ She was so good and dear, that all was 
forgiven and forgotten.” But this does not last: soon comes 
the entry, “ Calina came; and she went out with him, without 
one word of kindness or sympathy for me. I accompanied 
them a portion of the way, and then went back to give a les- 
son to Resi. She does not think of me, while Iam only think- 
ing of her pleasure.” The “ Resi,” here mentioned, was Bru- 
netti’s daughter Therese, then twelve years of age. The 
mother had once ‘casually said, she would like the child to have 
instruction in music. This was enough for Weber. Every 
hour he could steal, he had given in secret to Resi’s musical 
education; and he had so far succeeded with the clever child, 
that, on the mother’s birthday, he had the delight of producing 
her talent. “I could not sleep for the thought,” wrote Weber, 
on this occasion: “after breakfast Resi played. Her delight 
was great. My object had been attained; and Iwas happy. 
Is it possible she cannot now know how much I love her?” 
Blameful and illegitimate as Weber’s passion may have been, 
there is a noble self-abnegation and purity of purpose in this 
one deed, that might open the severest hearts to charity for 
the misguided man. 

It is remarkable, at the same time, that Weber was never 
led astray from his artistic duties, and all the thousand com. 
plications of business they involved, by this disastrous passion, 
Deficiencies still existed in the working of the operatic com- 
pany, and principally in the composition of the female chorus, 


236 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


in which voices had to be ill supplied by boys. On the 
9th of September, however, Weber produced the first opera 
under his direction on the boards of the Prague Theatre, the 
“Cortez” of Spontini. It had been magnificently “got up” 
by the management. The opera pleased the usually cold and 
critical public of Prague; and Weber had the satisfaction of 
hearing, on all sides, that “ the freshly-organized opera did the 
new capellmeister the greatest honor.” In the midst of ex- 
pressions of pleasure at his success, however, the poor, wounded 
spirit still wrote to Ginsbacher, “ For many along day, I have 
never felt so alone as now. Be it as Heaven will! I have still 
power to endure; and I can plunge into the whirlpool of work 
to seek oblivion.” 

That Weber must have worked with unremitting activity is 
evidenced by the fact, that he was enabled to produce new 
operas before his public with a rapidity which excited the as- 
tonishment of all, the envy of many. ‘Ten days after “ Cortez,” 
followed Catel’s “ Vorneheme Wirthe;” in another week, 
Mehul’s charming “Joseph and his Brethren,” a work dear to 
Weber’s own heart; in yet another week, the brilliantly-ap- 
pointed “ Vestale;” a fortnight afterwards, Cherubini’s beauti- 
ful “ Water-carrier ;” in equally-rapid succession, Cherubini’s 
“ Faniska,’ and Isouard’s ‘“ Billet de Loterie;” and, when 
public opinion expressed itself as opposed to such a series of 
foreign works, Friinzel’s “ Carlo Fioras,” not to the gratification 
of public opinion, however, which received with freezing cold- 
ness this first German opera produced under Weber’s direc- 
tion. . Within ten months the new opera had been thoroughly 
created afresh; in four months and a half, twenty-one acts 
of important operatic works had been studied and produced, in 
a manner which not only satisfied the most critical of publics, 
but the most difficult to be pleased of all directors. Such was 
the first produce of Weber’s talent in his new position. It 
may be fairly asked, whether it was not as great in its kind as 
his own musical genius. 

The year was not to pass away without bringing Weber inte 


CAROLINE BRANDT. Pay 


contact with the personage, who, above all that had crossed 
him in his path of life, was destined to exercise the strongest 
influence upon his whole being as an artist or as aman. Caro- 
line Brandt arrived in Prague on the 11th of December. This 
charming young singer and actress, introduced by Weber to 
his manager and patrons, soon won all hearts. Before the 
year was ended, she was engaged in rehearsals on the stage. 
On the Ist of January, 1814, she made her first appearance 
on the boards of the Prague Theatre, as “« Aschenbrédel ” (Cin- 
derella), a part in which she had carried off, in most of the 
great capitals of Germany, one of those triumphs won more 
from the heart than from mere critical judgment. Her ex- 
quisite form, her innocently-coquettish grace, her sweet, supple 
voice, her stage tact, and her powers of invention, which en- 
abled her to dare much which others would have feared, had 
richly qualified her for characters combining the expression of 
real, natural feeling with liveliness and animation. 

Caroline Brandt, the daughter of the tenor and violinist 
Brandt, may have been said to have been born upon the stage. 
At eight years of age she had first appeared as the child in 
the “ Donauweibchen,” and from that moment never ceased to 
enchant the public whenever she appeared. Her education 
had been but desultory ; but her rapid powers of conception, 
the plastic facility of her mind, and her natural grace, which 
so quickly seized on the opportunities offered for its cultiva- 
tion in the best society, had fully supplied the absence of any 
more formal and systematic education. Her unchecked hasti- 
ness of temper displayed, in some degree, the want of true fos- 
tering care, and the strong hand of early discipline; but her 
inmate goodness and tenderness of heart were always ready to 
overweich in the balance this little exuberance of tempera- 
ment. For years she had been led, with her elder brother 
Louis, from stage to stage, sometimes with sad periods of sor- 
row and deprivation. In Munich, she had obtained the great 
advantage of being able to study the performances of that 
eminent artist, Madame Renner; and on her school Caroline 


238 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


had founded her own exquisite style. She was already a 
formed actress, when, in the year 1810, she had charmed the 
public of Frankfort, and had been admired and unforgotten 
by Weber himself in her exquisite impersonation of “ Sylvana.” 
Her stage tact was of the finest order; her sense of grace and 
beauty in all things infallible. The practical artist was now to 
find in her a far more useful adviser than in a whole host of 
esthetical professors. It was not long after her arrival in 
Prague, that the quick-sighted young composer felt the full 
value of this influence, and began to look to her consummate 
taste for counsel. 

Caroline Brandt was small and plump in figure, with beauti- 
ful, expressive, gray eyes, and fair, wavy hair, and a peculiar 
liveliness in all her movements. Her first appearance on the 
stage of Prague at once decided her position in that capital. 

The honor of a recall before the curtain—an honor in 
those days seldom bestowed — was awarded to her; and, from 
the first, many of her competitors, among whom was naturally 
Therese Brunetti, began to look on her askance. This: feeling 
of jealousy was soon increased. When introduced by Weber 
into the houses of Count Colowrat, Prince Lobkowitz, and oth- 
ers of the first families of Prague, she was welcomed there with 
the distinction due not only to her great artistic merits and her 
innate charms, but to the purity and worth of her moral char- 
acter. Weber was thus thrown greatly in her company. He 
could not but feel the magic power of so fascinating a woman ; 
he could not but draw comparisons, little by little, between the 
worthless object of his passion, to whom, by a strange coinci- 
dence, Caroline Brandt bore a vague resemblance in fresher, 
younger form, and this pure, bright, artless creature. Still dur- 
ing the commencement of the year 1814, no traces are to be 
found of any diminution of his passion for the coquettish, artful, 
Therese Brunetti. He suffered bitterly, it is true, from her 
deceptions, her sordidness, her infidelities ; but his heart yearned 
for love, and clung with desperation to the rotten plank, on 
which he had stored all his hopes of requited affection. In the 


WEBER’S RUPTURE WITH THERESE. 239 


months of January and February there still appear in his note- 
book such remarks as, “ I was very sad; but she was good to me, 
and I was content.” “I found Calina with Therese, and I 
could scarce conceal the fearful rage that burned in me.” “ No 
joy without her, and yet with her only sorrow!” 

- But the unworthy bond was at last to be broken; and the 
release was effected by two comparatively trifling circum- 
stances. The tender lover, on the birthday of the object of 
his passion, had prepared for her a present, consisting of a gold 
watch, to which were appended a variety of trinkets, all chosen 
with symbolical reference to his deep affection. At the same 
time he had ordered her a dish of oysters, then a rare and 
costly delicacy in Prague. To the valuable watch the fair The- 
-rese paid little heed, still less to the profound meaning of the 
symbolical trinkets. She flung herself upon the oysters with a 
gluttony which disgusted the sentimental lover. On a sudden 
the scales fell from his eyes. The other circumstance was not, 
perhaps, so trifling. Weber had long remarked, with all the 
pangs of the most fearful jealousy, the marked attentions paid 
by Therese to a certain Calina, often alluded to in his notes, a 
man of substance. Although this affair had become a matter 
of town talk and scandal, the infatuated adorer had still fol- 
lowed in the train of the delusive woman, until she herself 
announced to him, with the utmost coolness, that she had been 
offered, with her husband, an apartment in Calina’s house, and 
had accepted it. This utter want of delicacy of feeling towards 
him revolted Weber. For once disdain overmastered passion. 
Still more irritated was he when he learned the foul advice 
given by Therese to Caroline Brandt, for whom the banker 
Kleinwiichter showed a preference. “ Hold him fast,” had said 
the worldly-minded woman: “he is worth the trouble, for he is 
rich.” All this, however, might have failed in opening the 
eyes of a man so utterly blinded by mad passion, had he not 
had a little physician by his side, who had-the best means of 
curing his disorder, by the sweetest homeopathic medicaments, 
which, doubtless, had already begun to work their spell. 


240 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


All the earlier portion of the year 1814 found Weber in a 
painful, almost distracted, state of mind. A struggle was al- 
ready going on within his heart between a passion battered 
and ruined, but still erect, and a new-born feeling gradually ris- 
ing into a form of strength and beauty. The duties of his 
position, at the same time, called for an amount of exertion 
and activity, for the purpose of rearing the young operatic 
tree he had planted, and sustaining his own repute, which 
would alone have sufficed to occupy all his thoughts. No won- 
der, then, that his powers of production at this period should 
have sunk to a low ebb. Beyond the beautiful Rondo to his 
afterwards-celebrated Sonata in A, his well-known variations 
to the air “ Schone Minka,” and some other insignificant pieces, 
there was no exercise of his creative genius. Upon the com- 
bat of his own soul, and the over-excitement of harassing 
labors, came now a complete prostration of spirit. The joyous 
humor of the genial young artist seemed to have fled forever. 
“The only real ground of my long and regrettable silence to 
you,” he wrote to Gottfried Weber, “lies in my deep depres- 
sion. This settled melancholy has so altered me that you, my 
old friend, would scarcely know me now. ‘The causes. of all 
this are various. My health, since my illness last year, has 
been always precarious. Moreover, I am alone in the world 
here, without a trusty friend to whom I can open my heart 
unreservedly. And, thirdly, my position here is that of a man 
who slaves in service, not of the free artist, guided by his own 
inspirations.” Not one word does he say here of the real cause 
of all this “deep depression,” —his frantic passion. So, too, 
in his letters of the earlier part of the year to Lichtenstein: 
“ My state of mind is so strange, that I fear to seat myself at 
my desk, lest I should communicate my sadness to the friends 
Tlove. Properly speaking, I have no cause for sadness. I have 
good clothes to my back; I can eat my fill; people take off 
their hats to me. I ought to be a happy man, then. How 
many have less reason to be so! But I am possessed of a 
devil. Man is the creator of his own happiness or unhappi- 


SICK AT HEART. 241 
ness, I know; and yet the joyous humor, which runs like quick- 
silver through every nerve, and makes the spirit soar aloft, is 
in no man’s gift to bestow upon himself.” 

But, however sick at heart and suffering in body Weber 
might be, he never failed to bestow both moral and material 
health and strength upon his operatic establishment. Here, 
restless and feverish as his activity might be, it was always 
practical. He produced, in the early portion of the year 1814, 
as many as ten newly-studied operas upon the boards of the 
Prague Theatre, in the space of three months. Not only on 
these occasions did he go through every part with each singer 
individually, and superintend himself every preliminary, par- 
tial, or complete rehearsal, but, as has already been seen, took 
upon himself to direct the stage-business, the groupings, the 
dances, the scenery, and the costumes. Nor did the unweary- 
ing activity, necessary for this immense extent of duty, prevent 
his general direction of the concerts continually given in sup- 
port of various charities. In one of these he conducted Haydn’s 
“Creation,” with the utmost devotion and zeal, but without 
success; on another, a cantata by Mascheck on “The Battle 
of Leipsic,” which he himself called, “ A monster of bad decla- 
mation, noise, and triviality, fit only to please the lovers of 
show ;”’ on another, a patriotic chorus by Salieri, in imitation 
of Hiindel’s “ Alexander’s Feast,” “ A work without one spark 
of true inspiration,” which fell flat upon performance. 

It may be said, at the same time, that the general rising of 
the German nation out of the fermenting mass of the countless, 
miserable, little German ‘principalities, found but a faint echa 
in the hearts of the Bohemians. The great national move- 
ment of the War of Liberation, so important in all its political 
and social aspects, had no other character in their eyes than 
that of a struggle of the glorious army of his apostolic majesty 
and his allies against his apostolic majesty’s arch-enemy. 
Their joy went no further than the feeling that their country, 
thrice bankrupt, and a hundred times duped by false promises, 
might now be restored, by “ good Kaiser Franz” and his great 

16 


242 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


minister Metternich, to its former credit, and all the abomina- 
ble vexations.of the war come to an end. The important in- 
terests of mankind, involved in the contest, seem to have been 
misunderstood or ignored in Prague. The celebration of the 
victory was confined to a gratis performance at the theatre, 
which went off without one spark of enthusiasm, except by the 
singing of the hymn, “Gott erhalte Franz den Kaiser,” in 
which the audience joined; and during which Weber, who, to 
the surprise of all who knew his ardent nature, had evidenced 
but little political enthusiasm during all this interesting and 
critical period, turned round on his conductor’s seat, and 
joined in the general chorus, with all his heart and soul, as he 
himself declared. 

Tt was during this period that Weber’s first benefit-night 
took place. He selected Mozart’s “ Don Juan” for the even- 
ing; and he had it studied in strict conformity to the original 
intentions of the great composer, to the delight of those who 
could still remember to have heard the immortal opera in’ 
Mozart’s own days. It is characteristic of Weber’s boundless 
admiration of Mozart, that, in his desire to produce the opera 
in its pristine integrity, he for the first time had a difference 
with his friend, Director Liebich. For reasons of economy, 
the manager desired to suppress the orchestra upon the stage. 
Weber, on the other hand, insisted on a complete execution of 
the work, and denounced the proposed “ dummy ” musicians 
on the stage as ridiculous and utterly detrimental to the effect. 
The altercation becoming violent, Weber declared that he 
“would rather pay the extra musicians out of his own pocket 
than allow one hair of Mozart to be touched.” And he kept 
his word. On his benefit-night the stage-music was paid by 
himself. Before the second representation, however, Liebich 
had “thought better of it,” and yielded to the ardent advocate 
of Mozart’s honor and fame. 

The part of “Don Juan” had been sung, but without any 
effect on this occasion, by Schroder, the husband of the great 
tragic actress, Sophia Schroder. This latter eminent artist 


A MIND ILL AT EASE. 243 


had been engaged at the Prague Theatre, and had come thither, 
at the commencement of the year, with her three lovely little 
daughters. Weber was so devoted an admirer of this great 
woman’s genius, that, on the occasion of a performance of the 
“Medea,” which was on the point of being suspended, owing 
to the sudden indisposition of the prompter, he himself crept 
into the prompter’s box, and once more displayed his consum- 
mate knowledge of all practical stage-requirements, by assuming 
the functions of the missing man. Now, too, he first saw Wil- 
helmina Schroder, at that time a beautiful little girl, who was 
trying her theatrical wings in the ballet, but destined to become 
so celebrated as Madame Schroder-Devrient. It was that very 
child who was afterwards to embody his part of “Agathe” 
with such wondrous talent and dramatic fire. Weber’s devo- 
tion to Mozart brought its blessing with it. His benefit was 
highly successful, and produced him the sum of twelve hundred 
florins Viennese. 

But the struggle was still going on in Weber’s heart; and 
his tone of mind was far from satisfactory. In a letter to 
Rochlitz, of this period, in which he gives an account of his 
daily labors, he still reveals a mind ill at ease with itself. 
“From early dawn until ten o’clock,” he writes, “I am beset 
with people who want to speak to me, and am happy if I can 
snatch a few moments from my hard, dry work. From ten to 
half-past eleven there is daily a rehearsal. Every other day 
there is an opera; every day, from year’s end to year’s end, a 
performance. Then I have my food given ne somewhere or 
other; for I must see a soul or two sometimes out of the thea- 
tre. Then home again for my correspondence, correction of 
scores, and the thousand other manifold necessities of my life. 
Then to the theatre, where, on ‘off-nights,’ J have to give my 
orders for the following day, and come to an understanding on 
business matters with the manager. Then, —then, I might 
indeed have a moment for confidential Jntercourse with a 
beloved friend; but nothing remains but weariness in my 
lonely chamber, head and heart ache, and tk.at eternal, wearing 


244 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


feeling that I am alone! How can I work then? Where is 
the power of creation? ... There is nothing here in the spirit 
of the public to inspire to productiveness. Nothing excites its 
enthusiasm: a deadly chill is thrown by it over all. The 
masses feel not like masses, as there is no community of senti- 
ment among them all.” To this desponding state of mind in 
Weber, the news of Vogler’s death no doubt contributed. The 
abbé had died at Darmstadt on the 6th of May. The intelli- 
gence had struck his pupil a heavy blow. All the old 
composer’s egotism and folly were forgotten in his death. 
‘Weber remembered only the man whose influence had done 
so much for the development of his Gwn powers, and who had 
loved, or had seemed to love, him with a fatherly affection. “I 
need not attempt to describe to you my grief,’ he wrote to 
Ginsbacher. ‘ Peace be to his ashes! He will live forever 
in our hearts. I hope he has not dealt carelessly with his 
works, but made one of us the heir of those he has left. I 
will endeavor to have the bust, for which we made the pedes- 
tal. I cannot write more: my heart is too full.” 

The time was come, hoWever, when his passion for Therese 
Brunetti was to be gradually cooled, and his yearning for a 
purer affection and a home of love was to lead him closer and 
closer to Caroline Brandt. From day to day she delighted 
Weber more and more, not only by her talent, but by her 
never-failing modesty, her amiability towards her jealous 
fellow-actresses, her respect for Art, her readiness in all. 
Her “ Zerlina,” in “Don Juan,” had completed the charm 
which established her in the favor of the public. But 
she lived retired with her mother, and received no visits. 
‘Some of the richer and more distinguished young nobles of 
the day had sought to try their fortunes with the new “ star; ” 
but in vain, Not the slightest breath of scandal could assail 
her. The contrast between this estimable girl and the unwor- 
thy Therese Brunetti could not but be more and more strongly 
impressed on Weber’s mind. 

The more his heart cooled, the more it thirsted for love. 


THE NEW LOVE. 245 


Fortunately the magic fountain-spring, at which he now hoped 
to drink, was the true one to heal his wounded soul. 

An opportunity at last occurred which permitted Weber to 
enter the lovely girl’s quiet home. Whilst talking to Weber 
on the stage, inserting her little foot in play into the wing- 
grooves, she had been caught by a scene rapidly shifted, had 
been thrown down, and considerably injured. The young 
capellmeister was at last allowed to call, and inquire after the 
results of the accident. The peculiar charm which Caroline 
knew how to throw over all around her —the charm of home- 
ishness and comfort — struck Weber profoundly. His yearn- 
ing for a home seemed here to find the embodiment of its 
ideal. He was touched — affected —and now felt he loved 
once more, but with a true, genuine, holy love, such as he 
had never known before. The souls of the two were destined 
for each other; and Caroline Brandt soon began to reciprocate 
the affection of her lover. There was nothing in the positions 
of the pair to create any obstacle. Under the eyes of Caro- 
line’s mother, Weber was allowed to pay his court. Her 
father and brother, who came to Prague in the month of June, 
could see no impediment to her union with the young, already- 
celebrated composer and capellmeister. But the “course 
of true love” was not to run wholly smooth: a little imp 
of evil was there to trouble the “sweet waters.” Therese 
Brunetti was too sharp not to discover that a change had come 
over her quondam adorer, and to divine the cause: she had 
not been the woman that she was, had she not hated the new 
object of the affections of the man of whom, if she had ever 
loved him, she was long since heartily weary. From the 
moment of the discovery, she used every device of artfulness to 
lure the seceder from her wiles back into the net. The chains 
were hard to break. Distressing scenes again occurred; and 
Weber’s mind was tossed hither and thither upon the stormi- 
est ocean of doubt. His sleep now wholly forsook him. Dis- 
tracted as he was by all these struggles of his soul, harassed 
by the multifarious duties of his position, and without one true 


246 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


friend’s heart to which he could pour out all his troubles, ne 
wonder that Weber found his moral and physical powers both 
alike give way. His health broke entirely; and he obtained 
his leave of absence to repair his shattered forces, the con- 
ductorship being meanwhile left in the hands of the able 
violinist Clement. For the requirements of his bodily health, 
he first sought out the baths of Liebwerda, in Friedland: after 
a course of the waters, he hoped to find a refreshing influence 
for his jaded mind among old and dear friends in Berlin, Gotha, 
Weimar, and Leipsic. 

Freed from the meshes of the tyrant, his heart was now 
given to the thought of Caroline Brandt, and her alone. “I 
am still and quiet here, and find time to write and think,” he 
wrote to Giinsbacher. “You will be surprised to hear that I 
left Prague, after all, with a heavy heart. But the riddle will 
be solved, when I tell you that I have left behind me there a 
sweet, beloved being, who might— who may — make me 
happy; for it seems as if she really loved me. Do not fear 
me. Past experiences have made me clear-sighted; and an 
absence of three months shall now test our loves.” His letters 
to her, whose accepted lover he might now be looked upon to 
be, were full of warmth and fire and true heart’s tenderness. 
Caroline Brandt’s hasty temperament was given to jealous 
doubts and fears and wavering uncertainties. The whole 
affectionate geniality of Weber’s nature was now lavished on 
his efforts to calm or modify these gusts of doubting love. Not 
a single little circumstance of his daily life was left unrevealed 
to Caroline. The lover was minute, because every detail.of her’ 
life was dear to his heart. “ Every trifle is precious to me,” he 
wrote. “Be open with me. Tell me all. Be assured my 
heart will sympathize with yours.” “O my Lina!” he an- 
swered to expressions of jealous fears on her side, “could you 
but lie on my breast and look into my eyes! Yet all would 
not avail, if trust in me is not alive in you.” And again, “ Can 
you suppose you-possess so little power yourself, or can you 
love me so little, that you can suppose I can wear any other 


LOVE’S DOUBTS AND FEARS. 247 


picture in my heart? .. . Tell a child forever he is a naughty 
boy, and he will become one; because, however innocent, he is 
always branded with a wrong. But I am no child, thank 
Heaven.” Once more, “ You love me, you say, as a ‘sweet 
poison,’ that is harmful to the soul. I could forgive you this 
unmerited reproach, were I sure you really loved me.” And 
now again, “God knows I would not give you pain; but I 
could not help showing you what pain your doubts of my 
affection have given me.” But, amidst these little self-torment- 
ings of a loving pair, came also bursts of joy. “I cannot 
understand my happiness,” Weber writes in another letter: “I 
seem to.wander in a dream, where all is flooded by a rosy 
light ; and I must touch myself, to be assured that all is possi- 
ble—is true!’’ It was the “old, old song,” —sunshine and 
rain were showered in turn upon love’s garden; but the plant 
still grew, and blossomed, and bore pleasant flowers. And thus 
Weber’s heart was bound for life to her who was to hold the 
strong man enchained thenceforth with fetters, the pressure 
of which was only seldom felt. 

As may be supposed, the composer’s creative genius was 
wholly quenched now by the more powerful genius stirring up 
within him. Nothing was done at Liebwerda; and on the 31st 
of July he started for Berlin, visiting Friedland, with all its his- 
torical associations, by the way. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


WEBER’S PATRIOTIC COMPOSITIONS. 


In Berlin, where Weber arrived on the 3d of August, 1814, 
he suddenly found himself in an atmosphere of agitation and 
excitement, pregnant with aspirations and feelings, the vastness 
and unanimity of which were new to him. ‘The great German 
rising of 1813 had borne its fruits. The German people, by 
its own will, its own power, and its own sacrifices, had subdued 
its great oppressor; and it stood, after its victory, like a young 
lion that had first felt its strength. In Prague, people had 
done no more than celebrate the success of the army of His 
Majesty the Emperor Franz over that of His Majesty the Em- 
peror Napoleon; they had congratulated in court-dress, and 
illuminated as in duty bound. But, in Berlin, men hailed the 
triumph of a people over its oppressors, of freedom over slavery, 
of a nation’s rights over the wrong of might: they were inspired 
with enthusiasm at the great deed which had been done. 
From the ragged urchins in the streets, who swaggered with a 
military air, to the generals of a people’s army, there was but 
one feeling in all hearts,—the feeling of self-won victory, 
power, and freedom. In every relation of life, in art, in 
science, in all, this feeling alone had any importance in the 
eyes of the masses, and could alone awaken interest or atten- 
tion. Had men discoursed of history, sacred or profane, of 
the joys of love, of nature’s charms, none would have listened ; 

248 


AFTER THE WAR OF LIBERATION. 249 


all softer tones were drowned in shouts of jubilee, and warlike 
acclamations. The stage had no place for aught but patriotic 
feats of arms; painting pictured only battle-fields; music 
breathed only sounds of war, victory, and freedom. Patriotic 
Berlin could listen to no other musical productions. Almost 
all the musicians of the time devoted themselves exclusively 
to patriotic compositions, of which Berlin could never have 
enough. The last work of Himmel, who died on the 8th of May 
of this year, had been “ The War-Songs of Germany.” But 
the true road to the people’s heart now was to be gained by 
musical settings of the patriotic verses of young Korner, the 
* beloved singer,” whose romantic death, upon the field at Gade- 
busch, had thrown an unusually-brilliant halo over his poetry. 
Many had been already composed ; and in every place, where 
German men were congregated together with voices in their 
throats, these songs were sung with love and fervor. 

It is a strange trait, at the same time, in German character, 
that a people, conscious and proud of its newly-acquired strength, 
should have identified the. chérished return of “good old 
times,” and the acquisition of freedom, with the return of their 
old sovereigns and rulers, however little these princes may 
have earned their subjects’ love, cared for their freedom, or 
contributed themselves to théir own restoration. In Prussia, 
the good qualities of the humbled king were alone remembered 
and respected ; his weaknesses, for the time at least, were for- 
gotten or ignored. It is true that the old hydra of re-action 
had not yet dared to raise its ugly head, and drive away, as 
persons suspected and to be crushed, the very men who had 
bought the freedom of Germany by their own hearts’-blood, 
and whose heroic spirit might still have earned the best weal 
of people and sovereign alike. Men had not believed so base 
a consummation possible at such a time. 

At the period of Weber’s return to Berlin, the loyal city 
wore the aspect of the camp of a victorious army. ‘Troops 
were. constantly marching through, welcomed and dismissed 
by the delighted citizens with festive honors. The warrior waa 


250 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


the only real hero of the day, in every grade of society. The 
ladies of Berlin had eyes only for the brilliant Russian officers 
of the Emperor Alexander’s guards, whom they declared to 
be “almost as seductive and handsome as their irresistible lord 
and master.” All the celebrities of the time, in war, diploma- 
cy, art, and science, —all the aristocracy of birth, wealth, and 
rank, had crowded into Berlin to be present at the expected 
festivities ; the first, the most important, and the most brilliant 
of which was to be the welcome given to the returning king, 
for whose reception in the capital preparations were made by 
all alike, with full and grateful hearts, on the most magnificent 
scale. Festive thoughts were in every mind: all hearts 
seemed opened to joy, to pleasure, and enthusiasm. The 
streets swarmed with eager, merry crowds; theatres, concert- 
halls, and other places of amusement, were densely thronged. 
After all, it may be here recorded, the king, in his usual un- 
sympathetic fashion, returned to Berlin unknown, and thus 
disarranged all the festive plans of his loving subjects, and 
rendered all their proposed demonstrations of loyalty vain. 
There could have been scarce any time when Weber could 
have come to Berlin more opportunely, whether for the recep- 
tion of strong impressions, or for a pleasant recognition to 
himself. - The very evening of his arrival, he received the 
most striking and gratifying proofs that he was far from having 
been forgotten, during his long absence, by those who had testi- 
fied love and respect to him in former days. There was an 
evening performance at the Sing-Akademie; and thither 
Weber betook himself, in the hopes of finding most of his 
musical friends. The assemblage was a brilliant one. -He 
entered quietly, during a pause in the music. But Liehten- 
stein saw him, sprang up, and hurried to him. The words, 
“ Weber is there!” ran from mouth to mouth. All his many 
friends left their places, and crowded around him. Before he 


could well look about him, he found himself the centre of a 


joyous throng, which strangers, anxious for his acquaintance, 
now joined. Marshal Bliicher, who was present as the hero 


Se 


RETURN TO BERLIN. 251 


of the evening, was comparatively deserted; and Zelter looked 
on with savage face. Not less affecting to his sympathetic 
heart was the impression made on him the following day, when 
he went to visit the parents of Meyerbeer. A dinner was 
being given to an orphan school at the rich banker’s honse. 
The chief notabilities of Berlin were present and at table. 
But as Weber looked in, “Mamma” Beer flew to him, with 
the cry of “Our Weber, see!” All rose, children and all, 
with a jubilee shout. Men crowded around him once more, 
with kindly greetings and offerings of service. If thus 
received in the “werld,” it may be well imagined what was 
his weleome among his “ well-beloved eae In a letier 
to Caroline Brandt, he spoke out the delight ‘this friendly 
recognition gave him. “I cannot deny,” he wrote, “that this 
enthusiastic, almost exaggerated testimony of affection and 
admiration, on all hands, has given me much pleasurable emo- 
tion, and imparted a fresh impulse to my spirit. I trast I 


~ shail obtain thereby new power and desire for work, and be 





able to give myself up to production. But most cherished by 
me, beyond all, is the thought that my darling may have 
reason to be proud of her own Carl.” 

If no determined form was given to Weber's creative powers 
by the fresh impulse awakened in him, ai all events a deter- 
mined tendency was bestowed on them by the new feelings and 
ideas which the scenes passing around now called forth in him. 
For the first time, a thoroughly-pairiotic sentiment was aroused 
within him ; for the first time, his soul warmed towards ihe 
thoughts expressed by the words freedom, fatherland, heroism, 
and haired of oppression. Such a hold did these watchwords 

the day take on his plastic and impressionable mind, thai, 

a lensth of time, all other artistic impulses were thrusi into 
the backsround. His allabsorbing desire now was to seck 
out for the artistie embodiment of his new ideas, the moulds 
into which he could pour the creations of the flowing entha- 
siasm which possessed him. To this enthusiasm — the direct 
relation of which to worldly and material interests lay too fa 


ob2 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


apart from the real nature of Weber’s musical genius to allow 
it to possess him for any length of time — was owing the exist- 
ence of those immortal songs of martial glory and freedom 
which burst upon the world a few months afterwards. They 
sprang from the soil of the freedom ideas of 1814, and were 
soon destined to throw all the political compositions of his 
predecessors into the shade. By their powerful influence on the 
hearts of young Germany, they contributed no little towards 
establishing the love of freedom, and the feeling for national 
honor, among the German people; whilst, at the same time, 
they transformed his own reputation into fame, and gave him 
a niche in the temple of history among the great German 
singers who had fought the good fight against all slavery of 
the mind as well as body. , These productions of a passing 
tendency, however, had the strange effect of classing Weber 
— quiet, good burgher as he was, only too much inclined to 
show respect to power and place — among the demagogues of 
the age, who were hated by princes, and looked upon as 
demons by the party of re-action. 

One of Weber’s great desires, on revisiting Berlin, was to 
obtain further representations of his “ Sylvana.” But in spite 
of the glorious welcome he had received from almost all the 
influential personages of the day, both musical and official, he 
found a thousand hinderances thrown in the way of its accom- 
plishment. Bernhard Anselm Weber, “on whose brow,” as 
Carl Maria himself expressed it, “the cold sweat stood at the 
thought of his possible appointment in Berlin,” was naturally 
not zealous in his cause. Iffland was lying on his death-bed ; 
and no new manager had been yet appointed. The royal thea- 
tres, consequently, did no more than was necessary to prevent 
their being closed; and carelessness and negligence were the 
. order of the day. Gratuitous representations in honor of the 
foreign troops, and military festivities at the theatre, occupied 
also so much time, and occasioned so much preparation, that 
there could be no thought, it was said, of restudying an opera. 
Weber, however, allowed the festive torrent to sweep by, and 
bided his time. 


PEACE FESTIVITIES. 253 


The official entry of the King into his capital took place, at 
last, upon the 7th of August. . Festive representations were 
given on the occasion in the theatres; in the opera-house, an 
apropos prologue by Kotzebue, and a military ballet. The 
city was brilliantly illuminated ; and Weber, whose taste did 
not lie in the theatrical treat of the night, joined in the throng 
of sight-seers. At one moment, when, jammed into a crushing 
mass of men, he was nigh being seriously injured by an advan- 
cing carriage, a cry of alarm escaped him: a man looked out 
of the carriage anxiously, and Weber saw before him the mag- 
nificent head of Tieck. The poet called to him, stretched 
forth his hand, and dragged the young composer with triumph 
into his vehicle. When once he had Weber safely seated by’ 
his side, the poet held him tight, and shouted out, “ Now I un- 
derstand the illuminations ; now I know what really brings us 
to Berlin!” 

In the whirlpool of the intellectual and material life around 
him, Weber seems to have found new spirit. His fantasy re- 
ceived fresh impulse ; and ideas poured in upon him in abun- 
dant stream. His powers of creation, more than those of any 
other composer of our times, were the result of an intimate 
sympathy between his own genius and the public that listened 
to his tones. “ During the week I have been here,” he wrote, 
“ I have played more than during my whole sojourn in Prague. 
I discover, to my joy, that a host of musical ideas are teeming 
in my head. I must labor hard to execute all my intentions; 
and yet I live in such a stormy, restless whirl, that I am never 
satisfied with my own doings.” 

With his thoughts engaged upon the reproduction of his 
“ Sylvana,” Weber again felt the unsatisfied longing for dra- 
matic composition strong upon him. ‘This desire was height- 
ened by his constant intercourse with Tieck, and with Bren- 
tano, who was also in Berlin. He saw now the opportunity 
for the acquisition of a truly poetical and artistically-con- 
structed opera-book. Brentano showed great zeal in his en- 
deavors to dig up, out of the legends of the Middle Ages, some 


254 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


exciting, romantic subject. One evening, as Weber sat on 
Lichtenstein’s sofa, exhausted with his weary preparations for 
his concert, Brentano burst into the room. He had found a 
subject: it was that of the “Tannhauser.” At that time the 
story had all the magic charm of novelty. Whilst Brentano 
sat, and detailed the story in his graphic, animated way, Weber 
listened with beating heart and delighted face. He felt that 
it was not only one which music could so richly embody, but 
one which music alone could touch. A vision of brilliancy 
and power swam before Weber’s eyes, as he saw in fancy 
the contest at the Wartzburg, the siren charms of the Venus 
and her world of enchantment, the pontifical pomp of Rome. 
There was music in every thought, music in every situation, 
music in every scene. Weber was enchanted; and nothing 
could satisfy him but that Brentano should go off at once 
to begin the work of his libretto. Thus fate had nigh or- 
dained it.that the tale of wonder, which has been the cause 
‘of so much excitement and controyersy in modern times, 
should have found -its musical treatment from Weber’s hand 
thirty years earlier. ‘There is no doubt that a subject of such 
deep poetical meaning would have inspired the romantic nature 
of Weber’s genius to great results, and might have led to an 
opera more full of beauty and melody and charm, if not more 
profound and great, than that of its future composer. But the 
destiny of Art willed it otherwise, perhaps, also, for the best. 
- Business occupations came in the way of both author and com- 
poser. The conjunction never took place, although a great 
portion of the text of the “ Tannhauser” seems to have been 
written. 

Surrounded as Weber was, at this time, by a host of nota- 
ibilities, whe showed him marked attention, and testified to 
him their admiration, ~ among whom, in addition, to artists, 
‘authors, and men of science, may be noted Prince Radziwill, 
Hardenberg, the Duke of Cumberland (afterwards King of 
Hanover), Princes Biron and Gallizin, 2 and Princess Solms, — 
he might have been supposed to have bees happy and content. 


A HUNT AFTER ROYALTY. 255 


But his mind was much pre-occupied and disturbed by the 
changeful mood and constant jealous doubts and fears of his 
lady-love at Prague. His heart was perpetually on the rack, 
and his nervous system cruelly excited. He was frequently in 
such a wretched state of feeling, that his rich fantasy deserted 
him, and the expectations aonked by his celebrated powers 
of improvisation were bitterly disappointed. On one occasion 
alone, at the house of Prince Radziwill, does he appear, 
although in a miserable state of mind on account of a letter 
just received from Caroline Brandt, to have excited the wonted 
unanimous enthusiasm. “Be pacified,” he wrote to the jeal- 
ous little woman. “ The attention ladies show me is but the 
amusement _or the affectation of the hour. There is no thought 
of love in it, my child. You must not suppose all other wo-: 
men have the same bad taste as you. The embraces of dear 
old Mamma Beer ean surely be no reproach to me. My lips, 
eyes, and ears might all be subjected to the most inquisitorial 
examination. The corruption of a great city is known only to 
those who are themselves corrupt, or who wilfully seek out cor- 
ruption. He who touches it not is no more burned by it than 
a cat by the moon.” 

Weber’s projected concert, which had been frequently post- 
poned, was now at last fixed for the 26th of August; and, this 
time at least, he had spared none of those pains which were 
required by the custom of the times. A mass of letters had 
been written to influential personages, a host of visits paid. 
His “evil star ” was, however, in the ascendency again, he de- 
elared, in his hunt after royalty, which, judging by his own de- 
scription, must have been harassing in every way. “The 
carriage did not come in time,’ he writes on the 24th; 
“the printer did not bring me the bills, which it was necessary - 
to take with me. When I was at last able to start, I reached 
the palace at tle very moment the King drove away. There 
was nothing to be done but to follow him to Charlottenburg. 
When I got there, he had gone out walking, and was nowhere 
to be found. So back again went I to Berlin, where I was at 


256 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


last enabled to see the Crown-Prince, who received me with 
great amiability and politeness, and afterwards the other 
princes and princesses.” “ Twice again,” he writes on the 25th, 
“have I missed an interview with the King. At last I was 
obliged to give up my hopes, and attend the rehearsal of my 
concert at the theatre.” Up to the last moment, on the very 
day of the concert, Weber was still hurried, harassed, wearied 
to death, by endless preparations, visits, invitations. The con- 
cert, however, proved in every way a success. The theatre 
was crowded, and the public enthusiastic; more particularly, 
when Weber once more not only found his old fire and won- 
drous powers of invention, but even surpassed himself in his 
improvisation. His new piano-piece in E, and the chorale of 
his hymn, “In seiner Ordnung schafft der Herr,” seem also 
to have met with especial appreciation. “ Tired as a dog,” as 
Weber describes himself to have been, after all the exertions 
of the concert, he found strength, however, to be present at a 
supper, given him by his friends, and still sufficient force of 
inspiration left, when some verses were written on the spot in 
his honor, to take the paper, and compose to the words a canon 
for four voices, which was immediately sung, at sight, by the 
company. 

One of the great results of Weber’s concert was the fresh im- 
pulse given to the desire, so often expressed by his influential 
friends, to see him established in Berlin. The wish was now 
in every mouth; and the report that Weber would shortly be 
appointed to the post of musical director, left vacant by the re- 
cent death of Himmel, spread quickly through the city. Under 
these circumstances, it was not easy for the theatrical worthies 
in power, whatever their ill-will, to continue to throw hin 
drances in the way of the representation of “ Sylvana.”” The re 
hearsals of Weber’s opera were at length resumed; and, on 
these occasions, the young composer had ampie means of acquir- 
ing the most gratifying proofs of the esteem in which he was 
held by all the members of the company and the orchestra. 
Many times was his hand pressed in secret, and such words 


LIFE IN BERLIN. 257 


murmured in his ear as “ You must stop here.” ‘“ When the 
old gentleman (Iffland) is dead, great things are to be done.” 
“ We want you, and must have you.” 

The position to which Weber was admitted in society, mean- 
while; the festivals of various kinds, from which he could not 
well absent himself; and the invitations, evening after evening, 


| —absorbed so much of his time, that the chief purposes of his 
| journey, repose and quiet work, were wholly nullified. His 


health and general spirits, however, had undoubtedly been 
beneficially influenced by his fresh contact with congenial 
minds; and, as undoubtedly, his genius had been animated 
anew by the great national and political spirit astir around 
him. ‘The seeds thus sown did not spring up, it is true, during 
his sojourn in Berlin: the few compositions he there brought 
to bear were scanty, and without any characteristic distinction- 
But it was yet destined to grow and blossom, in unwonted luxu- 
riance, in the forthcoming “Lyre and Sword.” “My life 
here,” he wrote to his beloved on the 3d of September, “ is one 
eternal, breathless race-course. How will the poor machine 
hold out? What others call fatigue, such as travelling, is rest 
to me. I can then recover from the whirl of the fatiguing 
world. Sometimes all the proofs of respect and consideration 


I receive, which ought to rejoice me, become so intolerable to 


me, that I lose all patience, and could massacre my best friends. 
Perhaps these are moments of madness. The artist, after all, is 
born to be the martyr of social life; and it is right he should 
fulfil his destination.” : 

The rehearsals of “ Sylvana” were thus carried on amidst a 


' hundred pre-occupations of business, of pleasure, of preparations 


for his departure, which a fresh and urgent invitation from the 
Duke of Gotha now rendered imperative. This pressure on 
his time, at the last moment, was greatly increased by an invi- 
tation from the Crown-Prince to a charming little dinner, at 
which Weber was greatly enchanted by the prince’s amia- 
bility, frankness, clear views of Art, and general extensive 
information. ‘The direction taken by the taste of the then 
17 


258 _ WEBER'S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


reigning sovereign excited Weber’s scorn and horror. Ballet 
and pantomime, under his auspices, were almost the sole tri- 
umphs of an establishment which the people of Berlin were 
wont, with pompous pride, to style their “ Grand Institute for 
the Cultivation of Art,” and, when Iffland’s watchful eye was 
withdrawn from the boards by death, ruled there supreme. 
But the Crown-Prince, Weber found cause to judge far differ- 
ently ; and he afterwards was frequently accustomed to declare 
that he should have been delighted to accept the direction un- 
der the auspices of so enlightened a man. 

“ Sylvana” was reproduced, on the 5th of September, to a 
house crammed to suffocation. But the public seems now to 
have received the opera with cool indifference. No mention 
of any token of success is made by Weber, either in his diary, 
or his letters to Caroline Brandt. This utter want of sympathy 
with the opera, however, is intelligible enough, and finds an 
easy explanation. The powerful tide of contemporaneous 
events had swept all feelings far away from the artificial senti- 
ments expressed by such a hyper-romantic subject; and, in 
spite of all pomp and show, its unnatural situations could excite 
no interest any longer in a people whose hearts had been so 
powerfully stirred by the great events which filled the minds 
of Europe. How “stale, flat, and unprofitable” must such a 
drama have appeared to men accustomed to see an all-absorb- 
ing drama of real life passing before their very eyes! A smile 
of pity was all that “ Sylvana” could have then elicited. 

Immediately after this unsatisfactory performance, in the 
midst of a depressing torrent of rain, Weber got into the car- 
riage which was to convey him on his way; and, after a short 
stay upon business matters at Leipsic, he was once more in 
Weimar. Whatever the feelings with which he started on his 
journey, however, there can be no doubt that, as he thus sat 
alone in his carriage, with the monotonous rain pattering 
ceaselessly upon the roof, the new creative impulses, awakened 
within him at Berlin, now sought and found their true artistic 
form. It is certainly remarkable in Weber’s life, that it was 


THE CASTLE OF GRAFENTONNA. 259 


generally in such moments as these, on lonely journeys, and 
after periods of excitement, that he found his clearest ideas, 
recognized his previous mistakes, formed his resolutions to take 
the true path, and then held to his resolve. 

In Weimar, Weber learned that the Grand Duchess was on 
the point of starting for Vienna. The news of the young com- 
poser’s arrival reached her ears, however. She sent for him 
immediately, and chatted an hour with him in her travelling- 
dress, leaving him only after a promise that he would visit her 
the following year. In Weimar, too, he found a letter from 
Liebich, urging his immediate return to his post at Prague, 
where his aid was imperatively needed on account of the inca- 
pacity of Clement, who, although a clever musician, was in no 
wise fitted for the position of conductor. Weber hesitated; 
but the yearning for still a few quiet days, for the sake of not- 
ing down the fresh musical ideas which were teeming in his 
head and heart, overpowered all other considerations. He 
stood resolutely by the terms of his leave of absence, and went 
on to Gotha. The Duke, however, was no longer there. He 
was just then resident at his old, barely-furnished castle of Grii- 
fentonna, where he was taking the waters of the lately-discov- 
ered sulphur-springs, in order personally to establish, the 
reputation of the bath. So to Griifentonna Weber followed. 
The old castle was situated on the banks of the rushing Tonna, 
surrounded by vast woods, above which its pointed roofs and 
gables towered picturesquely. It had its eventful history, from 
the times of the Middle Ages to the devastating days of the 
cruel Tilly, long before Duke Emil August held there his 
fantastic improvisations, his concerts, and his strange little 
court. 

“The wonderful old castle where I now am,” wrote Weber 
to Caroline Brandt, “and where I sit to write these lines, in a 
gloomy apartment, with the old windows and doors rattling in 
my ears, gives me a certain pleasant sense of stillness and re- 
pose. I could work here, and do much, were I left in peace; 
and, above all, had I not certain agitating feelings, connected 


260 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


with the city far away, which mix themselves with every 
thought and deed. . . . I drove over here with that anxious 
feeling which always besets me when I have not seen a person — 
for a length of time, and do not know exactly how I shall be ~ 
received. My fears were wholly groundless, however; for the 
Duke welcomed me with as much heartiness and cordiality as I 
could possibly desire. ... In the midst of my throat and 
finger employments with the Duke, which one day occupied 
me twelve hours at a stretch, I have found time to arrange my 
papers, and compose two new songs.” And what were these 
two songs thus simply mentioned? They were not only the 
first-fruits of the harvest ripened in Weber’s heart by the warm 
sun of national enthusiasm at Berlin, — they were the first 
steps on that splendid by-path of his talent, which were to lead 
him to the temple of fame and the summit of popularity. 
‘These songs, thus casually noticed, were no others than “ Liit- 
zow’s Wilde Jagd,” and “'The Song of the Sword.” These 
inspirations, which were to thunder through all Germany, and 
arouse a world fermenting with great thoughts and deeds, 
were thus breathed forth in the still, gloomy, forest-skirted 
Gothic chamber of the lonesome old castle of Grafentonna. 

“The Duke will not hear of my departure,’ wrote Weber 
again to Caroline: “his kindness is as inexhaustible as his 
wit; although, I must confess, he allows his wit to be a little 
too biting sometimes. . . . He loves to sit by me at the piano, 
and describe to me the pictures which rise to his faney’s eye, 
whilst I give them a form in music; or he invents and relates 
stories, which I am expected to accompany. Thus, day by 
day, I return in the evening to my quiet chamber enriched 
by some new idea.” 

From this pleasant labor in idleness Weber was torn, after 
too brief a space, by another anxious letter of entreaty from 
Liebich, which he now could no longer resist. He resolved, 
though much against his will, to give up the weeks still due to 
him of his leave of absence, and even to renounce his inten- 
tion of a concert at Leipsic, where he had hoped to obtain 


——— 


RESUMPTION OF DUTIES. 261 


honor and credit by his new patriotic songs, the true fire and 
force of which he himself began to feel. So he turned his face 
once more to Prague, where he arrived on the 25th of Septem- 
ber, having noted down his magnificent song, “‘ Men and Boys,” 
to Korner’s words, by the way. 

Apart from his delight at again greeting his beloved, Weber 
returned to his duties at Prague with no very pleasurable feel- 
ings. “The nearer I approached the great desert of houses, 
the more my heart failed me,” he wrote to Lichtenstein. 
“ Nor did my presentiment deceive me; for in a few days I had 
fallen back into the old cramped and unhappy state of mind.” 
Again, to Rochlitz, “The pain it gave me to return so much 
sooner than I had intended I cannot describe to you... . I 
soon repented my compliance; that is, if a man can ever 
repent having done his duty, in the broadest sense of the 
word. .. . And, after all, there was no real necessity for my 
return. ... And Liebich’s gratitude bears about the same 
proportion as the necessity, to the great sacrifice I have made. 
Item, — another lesson for the future: never believe a mana- 
ger’s lamentations, and always take out your leave of absence 
in full!” Annoyances there were, certainly, enough at the 
theatre, to depress the young conductor. The operas, given in 
his absence, had been negligently studied ; discipline had been 
weakened by the absence of a firm guiding-hand; and a host 
of disagreements and quarrels had been created, which were 
subversive of all order. With the support of Liebich, how- 
ever, Weber seized upon the reins of conductorship with vigor, 
got rid of the recalcitrants, and had the satisfaction, upon the 
production of Weigl’s “ Corsair from Love,” of receiving the 
unbounded applause Of the public, which thus marked the bene- 
ficial change created by his own direction of affairs. 

There is no doubt, at the same time, that the frequent mis- 
understandings which began to arise with the object of his affec- 
tions greatly contributed to the depression of the young man’s 
mind. The young lady’s disposition to jealousy and suspicion 
has been already mentioned. To this feeling were now added 


X 


4 


262 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


differences of opinion regarding views of life and principles of 
action, which kept Weber’s heart on the rack. In answer to 
Lichtenstein’s happy announcement of his own engagement, he 
wrote, almost despairingly, ‘Heaven grant you a good wife, 
—one who will make you happy, at least not unhappy; and 
that will be already a great boon. All my fondest hopes are 
vanishing day by day. I live like a drunken man, who dances 
on a thin coating of ice, and, spite his better reason, would per- 
suade himself that he is on solid ground. . . . I love her with 
all my heart and soul; and, if there be no truth in her affec- 
tion, the last chord of my whole life has been struck. I may 
still live on, — marry, perhaps, one day,— who knows? but 
love and trust again, never more !” 

In spite of this harassing condition of mind, and his mani- 
fold occupations in the theatre, Weber found time, however, not 
to compose, — for all his works were always ready in his head 
long before written down, — but to note, his surpassingly-beau- 
tiful songs in the famous “ Lyre and Sword.” Among these 
were his “ Schlacht, du brichst an,” “The Horseman’s Song,” 
“ The Prayer before the Battle,” “The Prayer during the Bat- 
tle,” and that most poetical, most melodious, of all his Lieder 
of this kind, “ Die Wunde brennt, die bleichen Lippen beben,” 
to which, before the end of the year, he added his “ Comfort,” 
and “My Fatherland.” The writing of this whole cycle of 
national songs, in the best sense of the expression, thus took 
place between the middle of September and the end of Decem- 
ber, 1814. Their conception and composition may probably be 
ascribed to the six weeks which passed between the beginning 
of August and the first date of their transcription. 

Another affair, moreover, occupied his mind greatly during 
the same period. He was agreeably surprised, one day, by a 
letter from Count Carl von Brihl, a talented man, and excel- 
lent musical dilettante in Berlin. This letter informed Weber 
that the count was led to expect the appointment of general 
director of the Berlin Court Theatre, and that, in case of the 
fulfilment of his expectation, he desired to secure the services 


PROSPECTS AT BERLIN. 263 


of the Prague capellmeister. The hope of being able to at- 
tain his desire ot occupying a worthy sphere in Berlin, and 
give up his cramping existence in Prague, now dawned in the 
young capellmeister’s heart. But Weber was noways disposed 
to act without due deliberation ; and, in a straightforward, hon- 
est, manly answer, he informed the count, that, disposed as he 
was to come, he could only accept a position which would in- 
sure his being able to use it in the best interests of Art. In a 
letter to Lichtenstein, also, who did all in his power to forward 
the affair, he wrote. relatively to Bernhard Romberg, who had 
been also named as possible new capellmeister: “Thanks for 
all you have done. You have acted entirely in accordance 
with my own feelings, in informing Romberg of the affair. On 
no account would I have lost the respect of such a man by any 
seeming deceit. Let him win the prize who may; and the 
other will have no cause to make wry faces:at him. . . . Mean- 
while I have had an offer from Kotzebue, to undertake the 
direction of the Konigsberg Theatre. It is flattering, I own; 
but I have declined with thanks.” 

Amidst his other multifarious pre-occupations, a whole month 
was now given by Weber, with unremitting zeal and industry, 
to the preparation of Beethoven’s immortal opera, “ Fidelio,” 
for representation. Fourteen careful rehearsals scarcely seemed 
to him sufficient for so great a work. The more deeply Weber 
studied it, the more he was impressed with its great beauties. 
Its general treatment, however, never fully satisfied him in a 
dramatic point of view. This opinion he always maintained in 
after years, when his own dramatic tendencies, which certainly 
went far away from those of Beethoven, were more confirmed. 
Both the composers valued each other. They both stood far 
too high to have felt any envy or hostility. They even af- 
terwards became friends, as far as their great difference of 
character could admit of friendship. But they never fully un- 
derstood each other. Indeed, it cannot be denied, that the 
more truly the tendency of any artist springs out of his own 
nature, the less he can admit the genuineness of any other’s 


264 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


tendency, —the less he can comprehend it. Genius cannot but 
be fanatical; its concessions can but be hypocrisy. Great 
artists, consequently, are the worst art-critics. 

“ Fidelio” was at last produced on the 21st of November, 
and admirably executed. But it met with only cool indiffer- 
ence, from the very public that had worshipped Mozart. 
Weber was furious at the result, and expressed himself accord- 
ingly, in a letter to Ginsbacher. ‘“ They could not understand 
all that was really creat in this music. It was enough to drive 
one mad. Tomfoolery would suit them far better, I opine.” 

The year was now drawing to a close; and, spite of occa- 
sional happy days with his beloved, Weber could not shake off 
that feeling of utter loneliness which fell upon him with still 
greater intensity after the excitement of production in “ Lyre 
and Sword.” It was increased, instead of being diminished, 
by his mixing in the artistic re-unions which it was the fashion 
to assemble in the great aristocratic houses of Prague. How 
often, after the mention of such a party in his diary, do such ex- 
clamations of despair follow, as “ O Dio!” “ Eheu!” “Ach Gott!” 
“ T cannot but feel that I unconsciously withdraw myself more 
and more from my fellow-men,” he wrote to Gottfried Weber. 
“There are so many miserable souls in the world! Bohemia 
has become for me a mere hospital of all intellect.” Nor was 
this unhealthy state of mind improved, even by the great suc- 
cess of his concert, given on the 6th of January, when his 
“Liitzow’s Wilde Jagd” and the “Song of the Sword” 
called down the most rapturous applause, and had to be re- 
peated. The acclamation, he would have it in his capricious 
mood, was given only to the composition, and did not come 
from hearts in which there glowed the smallest ‘spark of the 
spirit which animated these songs of freedom. “ Would,” he 
exclaimed, “that I could hear them sung by a noble crew of 
young, ardent patriots!” 

No wonder, then, that his unsatisfied soul should have clung 
more and more to his affection for Caroline Brandt, and that 
the yearning for a happy home, with his beloved by his side, 


. 
* THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 265 


should have waxed stronger and stronger within him. He was 
never so well pleased as when occupied with her affairs. He 
undertook the management of her accounts with his usual 
scrupulous exactitude. All the business of the inexperienced, 
girl and her mother was placed in his hands. . In order to in- 
crease the receipts for Caroline’s benefit, he allowed it to be 
given out, that Capellmeister Weber would sell the tickets at 
the box-oflice of the theatre; and he actually remained there 
the whole day, endeavoring to obtain the highest possible prices 
for the tickets by his pleasant wit and amiable gayety. All the 
members of the aristocracy, all the theatre-frequenters of 
Prague, flocked to the theatre-doors with curiosity. No doubt 
on this oceasion, as on others, Weber had shown too little re- 
gard for public opinion. For scandal began to clamor loudly, 
respecting the connection between Caroline Brandt and the 
young capellmeister, and to assail the poor, innocent girl’s char- 
acter pitilessly. - Weber was deeply shocked when these ma- 
lignant rumors reached his ears. There was but one thing to 
be done. He entreated the injured girl to marry him at once. 
It may seem strange now, that a little singer, admired by 
the public, it is true, but whose fame is now forgotten, except 
as Weber’s wife, should have hesitated to accept the hand of 
the celebrated genius. But so it was. It must be remembered, 
however, that Weber, at this period, was no more than a prom- 
ising young composer. He bore the character of being thoucht- 
less and unsettled in disposition; he had still a load of debt 
upon his shoulders; and he could offer no other guarantee for 
domestic happiness and comfort than his honorable nature, his 
true-heartedness, and a talent, the importance of which a 
young girl was unable to gauge. She, on the contrary, was 
just then the cherished favorite of the public, young, lovely, 
talented, with a probably brilliant career before her. More- 
over Weber, whose experiences of theatrical life had unfor- 
tunately not been the best, and who considered the stage as 
incompatible with domestic peace and happiness, made it an 
imperative condition of the union, that his wife should quit the 


266 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


boards at once and forever. That Caroline had a strong at- 
tachment for her lover there can be no doubt. But there 
was a worldly-wise and cautious mother by her side, not ill- 
disposed to the young man certainly, but who had a knack of 
weighing material advantages in a very scrupulous balance. 
The answer which the ardent lover received was, that Caro- 
line must have time for reflection before she gave up her art. 
Irritated in some degree, but anxious also to avoid any pretext 
for attack on his beloved’s character, Weber resolved to leave 
Prague as soon as possible under the circumstances. But that 
he should quit Prague on her account, Caroline declared, would 
make her wretched. _ Weber was tossed upon a sea of distress- 
ing doubts. “It is no use talking,” he wrote to Lichtenstein, 
“my wife must belong to me alone, and not to the world; and 
passion shall not drive me to accept an alternative which may 
bring with it the misery of a life. She loves me too well to 
let meg go; but who knows how long love may last, amidst trou- 
bles and anxieties which may show my temper in an unamia- 
ble light?” In this harassing position of uncertainty, at the 
same time, an absurd and nonsensical difference of opinion 
seemed on the point of sundering forever two souls destined 
for each other. Strange to say, Weber’s new composition, 
“ Lyre and Sword,” was the cause. Caroline had always en- 
tertained the intensest admiration for Napoleon, in her eyes 
“the greatest hero of the age;” and she found her feelings out- 
raged by the attacks made on him by her lover in these new 
songs. Political disputes arose between the loving pair, and 
led to nothing but bitterness. 

To solve these painful complications, Weber could see no 
better means than the acceptance of some engagement else 
where. He looked anxiously to the result of the negotiations 
at Berlin. Count Carl von Briihl had now been nominated 
general director of the Royal Theatres, and had sent in a re- 
port in favor of Weber, whom he designated as°a “talented, 
fiery composer, distinguished above all his contemporaries by 
his general information, and his acquirements in poetry, litera- 


yew 


SOLACE IN LABOR. 267 


ture, and art,” as director of the German opera. But all was 
yet in abeyance ; and not a gleam came from Berlin to lighten 
the darkened horizon of Weber’s life. The only result of his 
correspondence with the Prussian capital at this period was 
the sale of his “ Lyre and Sword ” to Schlesinger, the musical 
publisher, for the poor sum of twelve louis-d’ors. 

Meanwhile, saddened in spirit, no longer the “sprightly, 
wild young capellmeister” the theatrical company first knew 
him, Weber went through the monotonous duties of his office 
with undiminished zeal and fidelity. Opera after opera was 
studied, rehearsed, represented, with the utmost care. For his 
own benefit, which brought him in the sum of twelve hundred 
and four florins, he produced the “ Cosi fan tutte” of Mozart, 
with fresh words, and under the title of “The Magic Test.” In 
other respects, too, he busied his distracted mind. He conducted 
a concert, given by the Hermstadts, father and son, both of whom 
were great flute-players. The latter conceived such an affec- 
tion for Weber, that he afterwards settled in Dresden, in order 
to be near him. He wrote two unknown pieces, now, appar- 
ently, lost to the world; and about the same time he composed, 
for a similar occasion, an adagio for flute, violoncello, and piano, 
which afterwards swelled into the trio for the same instruments 
known as his Op. 63. Another matter also, of importance to him 
in a practical sense, greatly occupied his attention. About this 
time his friend Gottfried Weber had published his great work 
upon the theory of harmony and composition. The researches 


.of the author in the compilation of his book had led him to the 


construction of a new instrument, as a sort of “ tempo-inter- 
preter” between composer and conductor, for the purpose of de- 
termining, without possibility of error, the exact tempo of any 
piece of music to be played. This instrument, which he named a 
chronometer, he communicated to Carl Maria. The idea was 
not a new one, and was never given out as such by Gottfried 
Weber. The inventor, however, considered his instrument as 
a vast improvement on the already-known “metronom,” the 
clumsinesses and deficiencies of which he pointed out in his 


268 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


pamphlet on the subject. Carl Maria does not appear to have 
been greatly impressed with the invention, although he gave it 
the most careful attention. ‘“ True feeling,” he wrote to his 
friend Gottiried, “ will never take a tempo wrong, although 
there may be-some slight difference in slowness or quickness, 
according to individual temperament. But, in any case, such 
an invention cannot but be usefulin showing many a musical 
blockhead the way he should go.” In after days, however, 
Weber made considerable use of the chronometer. In the 
scoring of “ Kuryanthe,” for instance, the tempo of each piece 
was marked down with care, according to the instrument, and 
strictly impressed on the attention of conductors, when the opera 
Was given on any stage. 

Weber’s thoughts, however, seem to have been mainly oceu- 
pied with the very compositions which his beloved regarded 
with such irritated feelings, but the importance of which he 
could not but feel. “* Lyre and Sword’ are my latest children,” 
he wrote to Lichtenstein ; “and I trust they may be dear to you 
as such.... In ‘The Prayer during the Battle,’ I must entreat you 
not to look upon the piano accompaniment as descriptive of a 
battle-field. I am not fond of such musical pictures. What I 
wanted to express was the swelling feeling of the agitated soul, 
praying to Heaven during the battle. Pardon me for making 
such a remark to a man like you.” 

Towards the end of May, disagreeablenesses of various 
kinds had so accumulated about Weber, that his lite in Prague 
began to become almost intolerable to him. His brother Fri- 
dolin came to him from Freiburg, where he had thrown up a 
good situation for no other reason, it would seem, than because 
he thought his brother might obtain him a better. Fritz, as 
he was cailed, had evidently much of the spirit of Franz Anton 
in him. Lis recklessness and idleness drove Carl Maria wild; 
nor was the young capellmeister’s mind one moment at rest, 
until he had found his brother an engagement in a company at 
Carlsbad. At this period also he was rendered very unhappy 
by the discovery that a considerable sum in money, as well as 


DEPARTURE FROM PRAGUE. 269 


clothes and linen, had been stolen from his drawers. An 
unreasonable fit of jealousy now again seized on Caroline, on 
account of a newly-engaged actress of the name of Christine 
Bohler, to whom the unhappy lover was falsely accused of 
showing overweening attention. This disease of the mind 
assumed such a degree of intensity in the misguided girl, that - 
the life of the loving pair was now one series of exciting scenes 
of quarrels and temporary reconciliations. Towards the begin- 
ning of June, Caroline declared to the distracted Weber that 
such an existence could be borne no longer, and that one of 
the two must leave Prague. She now urged the very step 
against which she had once protested with so many tears and 
supplications. Thus tormented, Weber formed the sudden 
resolve to anticipate his leave of absence by a month, and to 
quit the place at once. With letters of introduction from his 
friend Count Clam, and the Princess Maria Anna of Bavaria, 
sister of the King, who was then with her husband at Prague, 
and evinced a great regard for the young composer, he left 
Prague as early as the 6th of June. . 

The whole tone of the young man’s mind during the jour- 
ney of three months which then ensued, as displayed by all 
his contradictions, his struggles, his ever-varying moods of 
light and shade, is almost too painful to touch upon. It is 
pitiable to see his once-strong nature subverted by one all- 
powerful feeling, and to mark how much he was the slave of 
one being, amiable in truth, but not without caprice, who 
never seems sufficiently to have weighed the importance of 
many a word which fell upon the poor victtm’s heart with crush- 
ing weicht of misery. The letters which Weber despatched 
at this period to the woman he still loved, spite all their differ- 
ences, with all his heart and soul, would only throw a false 
light upon his real individuality, and present an erroneous 
picture of him in the weak, sentimental, almost effeminate 
dreamer, into which his abnormal condition of moral ener- 
vation had now transformed his otherwise fresh. nervous, 
powerful nature. 


270 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


With one of those strange contradictions between the artist 
and the man, of which many evidences have been given in 
Weber’s character, and which would seem to prove a thoroughly- 
independent duality, it was at this very period of weak 
depression that one of the most powerful and energetic of 
all his creations came into the world,—his “Kampf und 


= 3? 
Sieg. 
e 


CHAPTER XV. 


A PERIOD OF CHANGE. 


THAT portion of Germany which was the most remote from 
the scenes of the late wars was naturally the one the best. 
adapted for an artistic tour; and Weber, consequently, on 
quitting Prague, turned his face in the direction of Bavaria. 
He had many friends there whose companionship he was anx- 
ious to enjoy; so, on the 18th of June, he found himself once 
more in Munich, where he was received with open arms by his 
faithful Biirmann, and lodged in his house. His former pleas- 
ant intercourse in the Bavarian capital was quickly resumed 
in friendly families. 

It was one of the charageristics of Weber’s affectionate and 
sympathetic nature, that, when separated from those he loved, 
he strove by every means to connect them as intimately as 
possible in his daily life. He had parted from the object of 
his’ devoted attachment “more in sorrow than in anger;” and 
one of the strongest evidences of this peculiar characteristic 
may be found in the pains he took, in his letters to Caroline 
Brandt, to describe to her every detail of the chamber in 
which he was lodged, and thus to associate her with every 
objeet around him. “I am so charmed to find,” he wrote to 
her, “that we generally write to, each other on the very same 
iy. It is so pleasant to think, that, at the same moment. aa 
myself perhaps, you are occupied at your well-known table. 

271 


272 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


In future let me know the very hour, as well as the day, on 
which you write. But you cannot tell where I am sitting. 
Call your fancy to aid whilst I make you a plan of the little 
room I occupy.” Following these words comes a plan of his 
chamber, in which every window and door, every article of 
furniture, “the chair on which I sit, the table at which I 
write,” were marked with scrupulous exactitude. “You see,” 
he goes on to say, “that, when I want to roam up and down in 
my den, I must use considerable adroitness in winding in and 
out, so as not to upset my furniture. Would that I could give 
you as accurate a picture of my whole soul! You alone occupy 
it entirely.” The simplicity of Weber’s wants and habits 
stands out clearly in this description of his scanty room; and 
yet no one could appreciate and enjoy, more than himself, all 
the luxuries as well as the comforts of life. 

During his present sojourn in Munich, Weber was thrown 
into more immediate and. constant intercourse than before with 
the talented and amiable Baron von Poissl. Although older 
than Weber, and far more experienced in operatic composition, 
Poissl sought the young composer’s advice incessantly in all 
his writings, went over with him his opera of “ Athalia,” which 
‘had already.-been given with great and deserved applause, as 
well as his other earlier works, and even made many changes 
in his music, in compliance with gis young adviser’s clever 
suggestions. chee : 

Whilst these trials of Poissl’s music were going on, Weber 
made the acquaintance of Friulein Wohlbriick, who had 
originally sung the part of Joas in the “Athalia,” and, in conse- 
quence of this introduction, that also of ‘her father, who was 
at the same time actor and author. As fate would have it, the 
very same day that Weber made Wohlbriick’s acquaintance 
the news of the victory won at Waterloo arrived in Munich. 
The whole city was immediately decorated as if by the wave 
of a magic wand. Illuminations, fireworks, Te Deums, salvos 
of cannon, were improvised by enchantinent, as it were. The 
nightmare of the “hundred days,’”* which had lain’ so heavily 


a 


«1s enlace DAs ei 


“KAMPF UND SIEG.” 273 


on the heart of Germany, was suddenly removed; and the 
jubilee was universal. Men seemed intoxicated with joy ; 
friends or strangers, they embraced each other exultingly in 
the public streets. .Weber was carried away by the general 
enthusiasm. He followed the crowd into St. Michael’s Church, 
to return thanks for the fall of the arch-enemy. Whilst he 
listened there to the pealing tones of the Ye Deum, an 
irresistible yearning came upon him to celebrate the great 
event by some important work of his own art. The vision of 
a splendid cantata of victory floated before his mind, as yet 
in shadowy outline. On leaving the church he stumbled by 
chance upon Wobhlbriick, seized his arm, and communicated 
his idea to him. The actor-author took it up with as much 
enthusiasm as himself, and promised to have a poem ready in 
a few days. It was a whole mouth, however, before the words 
of the proposed cantata were written. It was not until the 
beginning of August, that a detailed sketch of the whole work 
was in the young composer’s hands, and that he could occupy 
himself with musical ideas to the words. Thus it was that 
“Kampf und Sieg ” came into the world. 

The task was a hard one. Not only was Weber’s time 
greatly occupied with his social intercourse, in houses where 
the advances made to him were impossible to be repelled, and 
with the lessons again given to the daughter of his good friend 
Wiebeking, but with all the preparations for his performance 
before the court, for which the way had been smoothed # him 
by the kindness of all around him, as well as with those of 
his own public concert. More than all, however, were his 
creative powers deadened by the deep moral and physica! 
depression, which had fallen like a blight upon him. His let- 
ters to his beloved bore sad evidences of his unhappy state of 
mind. “Sometimes I think,” he wrote, “that all power of 
productiveness is lost to me forever; as if, for the future, I 
were doomed to be a nothing in the world. . . . I cannot tell 
you, my beloved soul, how prostrated I am... . But I will 
accept my destiny without a murmur.” Again, “I went in 

18 


274 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. ° 


the evening to the suburb theatre to see a stupid farce. I 
could not sit it out. I had expected a letter from you; and 
there was none. But my efforts to seek oblivion of my sorrow 
were in vain. . . . It costs me a bitter struggle to undertake 
the preparations for my concert ; although I should lie, if I did 
not confess that more than half the trouble is taken off my 
hands. .. . More than all, 1 feel so bitterly that my own 
doings, however they may please others, give me no joy what- 
ever now.” Once more, “Would I could shroud myself in 
the darkest mist, so as to be seen of none! The kindness of 
my friends only pains my heart. I feel better when I am 
alone, and none are there to care for me. I can bear, too, the 
whirl of the great world ; for there I can laugh at all the follies 
I see, — the false forms, the empty ceremonies, the pitiful im- 
portance of silly trifles, the ignorance of man that he has been 
created for a higher purpose. I sometimes think then, that, 
with all my efforts to reach goodness and perfection, I am but 
a sorry fool. . . . Cannot you give me the courage to per- 
severe?” To his friends Weber wrote in the same strain. It 
a letter to Rochlitz he exclaims, “I seem dead for all art. 
At least, creative power fails me. My cantata creeps on like a 
snail; and yet I know, that, as an occasional subject, another 
event in this changeful world may deprive it of its true effect. 
But it is no use reasoning with myself. Genius will not listen, 
however wisely Reason may lecture, and only grows more cross 
and irritated by lecturing.” It was a sad and weary time for 
the poor, heart-distracted artist. 

Weber’s performances, however, necessarily called urgently 
for his utmost attention, and occupied a considerable portion 
of his time. He played before the King and Queen at Nym- 
phenburg, and was received by the worthy pair, not only with 
graciousness, but with hearty kindness. Another performance 
was given by him in the palace of the Duke of Leuchtenburg, 
better known as Prince Eugene, Viceroy of Italy, who, after 
the fall of Napoleon, had taken up his residence in the native 
town of his wife, the Princess Auguste Amalie of Bavaria. 





EERFORMANCES IN MUNICH. D5 


Wever was greatly interested in the Duke, whose gallant bear- 
ing struck his fancy, as much as the warrior-viceroy’s profound 
knowledge of music surprised him. A handsome diamond ring 
was given him as a memorial of his pleasant evening. Imme- 
diately, also, followed his own public concert in the theatre, on 
the 2d of August. The house was crammed in every part. 
The royal family was present. The whole public listened 
with rapt attention to Weber’s performances of his own 
piano-concerto, and his duet for piano and clarionet with the 
accomplished Birmann. The overture to “ Sylvana” met with 
the liveliest appreciation; but the chief applause, for which 
the King gave the signal with conspicuous enthusiasm, was 
reserved for the three great pieces from “ Lyre and Sword,” 
which Weber had arranged for sixteen voices. The receipts 
from the concert were considerable; and on every side there 
were pleasure and:contentment. Within a few days again, an 
invitation to give a concert in Augsburg took Weber over to 
that pleasant old town, where, according to the promise of his 
inviter, “ every thing was so arranged that he had only to sit 
down and play;” but where, although applause was lavishly 
bestowed, receipts were scanty. 

Other influences also were brought to bear to rouse the sad- 
dened artist from his deep depression, although vainly. In 
the Munich Theatre one evening, at a performance of Schiller’s, 
“ Maria Stuart,” he had the pleasure of meeting the celebrated 
Rahel Varnhagen, who rallied him on his melancholy, which 
she chose to ascribe to the “ boring effect of tragedy,” and in- 
sisted on carrying him off the next evening to see a local farce 
in company with Poissl and the learned Thiersch. The latter 
had just come back from Paris, whither he had been sent on a 
mission to reclaim the works of art of which Bavaria had been 
plundered by the invader. 

That the cause of this unhappy state of mind was mainly to 
be attributed to Weber’s distracting love-atfairs, may be clearly 
deduced from his letters to his friend Gottfried Weber at this 
period. “I, who have laughed at love, and all I have heard 


276 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


of the passion, or seen described,” he writes, “ have now learned 
to comprehend the incomprehensible. . . . I was on the point 
of marrying, but I have been withheld from this step by my 
own prudence ; still, if she really loves me sufficiently to make 
a sacrifice, she may yet be my wife. . .. The mother was against 
me ; for she saw she would lose her hold upon her daughter. On 
both sides we might have been unhappy; and so we have 
parted, convinced that a separation was for the best. But I 
love her still with the same heart, the same deep love... . J 
look with terror to the time when my duties will necessaril; 
compel my return to Prague, and I shall be daily forced to see 
the being I dare love no longer. . . . Now you can understand 
why I have been, in seeming, so dead to all. Yet, by heavens, 
my affection for you has ever been the same. . . . ] must not 
dwell upon this subject. ‘The remembrance of the past is too 
cruelly painful. I am so weak and nervous now, that I could 
put down my pen and weep.” ‘This wretched state could not 
last, however. Some degree of change came over the unhappy 
spirit of the young man; for not long afterwards he wrote 
again, “I am now at work upon my new cantata, which I 
propose to send to the various sovereigns of Europe. The 
English ambassador here will send it to the Prince Regent, 
and see that it is well translated into English. So you may 
guess how much I feel the importance of a work which may 
give me a world-wide fame. I am occupied on it day and 
night ; and, thank Heaven! during the last few days I have 
felt some of my old power coming back to me, with the consol- 
ing thought that I may yet be of some use in the world.” 

The poem of the cantata, “ Kampf und Sieg,” had been by 
this time completed by Wohlbriick, and was in the composer’s 
hands. To modern ideas there can be nothing less inspiring, 
it would seem, than Wohlbriick’s formal verses, in which all 
true and living effect is deadened and destroyed by the inter- 
mixture of abstract, allegorical personages with the realities of 
a battle+field. The reader of this cold poem at the present day 
must fully imbue himself with the intellectual tendencies of 





THE NEW CANTATA. 277 


the times, before he can in any way comprehend how it could 
possibly have inspired Weber to the composition of music of'so 
much vigor and fire. And yet the composer’s soul seems to 
have been roused. “The poem is admirable,” he wrote to 
Caroline Brandt, “and fully worthy of the great occasion. 
May Heaven bestow on me the power to give to the world my 
share of the work with equai greatness!” And again, to 
Rochlitz, he says, “ The poem of my cantata has the tendency 
most to be desired. Had it been a mere commonplace, occa 
sional poem, full of laudation of the heroes of the day, believe 
me, I should never have touched it.” ‘“ An admirable poem,” 
he again calls it in one of his letters to Gottfried Weber, 
“which I must copy and send you at my first leisure hour. 
You will see!” 

Three weeks, at least, elapsed, before Weber, who, after his 
usual fashion, was working up his musical ideas for “ Kampf 
und Sieg ” in his head, could make up his mind to begin put- 
ting them upon paper. It was not until the 17th of August 
that he wrote down the first of his series of pieces, the “ Chorus 
of People,” in D-minor, No. 2. The next was the “ Warriors’ 
Chorus,” in B, No. 8. And there he remained for a while, his 
labors not being resumed until the 19th of October, and only 
finished on the 11th of December ; although the time bestowed 
on the work altogether was, in reality, comprised in the space 
of four and twenty days. Yet never, as is evident from all his 
letters and notices of the period, did he undertake any compo- 
sition with a firmer will, and a more ardent desire to achieve 
a work of impor tance, and true to the spirit of the times, that 
might last to the world, and perhaps immortalize his name. 
He had every reason to have confidence in his own powers in 
the execution-of the task. Had not its predecessor, composed 
to the words of Korner, been crowned with a surprising and in- 
spiriting success? At the same time, the genius for dramatic 
form, which was always rife in him, sought to bestow upon the 
undramatic staff that peculiar scenic effect which was ever 
floating like a vision before his eyes. The feelings which in- 


278 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


spired him on this occasion, and the means by which he worked 
them out, he published some months later in one of his literary 
notices. “Come what may,” are the last words of this paper, 
“the gift was from above: the world may now judge it as it 
will.” The world has judged long ago; and Weber’s cantata 
of “Fight and, Victory ” has been acknowledged one of the 
greatest leaves in his whole wreath of fame. 

During the latter portion of his stay in Munich, however, 
Weber may have been said to have been incapacitated from 
exercising his creative powers. True, a scena and air for the 
celebrated singer Frau Harlas, a concertino for the horn, and 
some other forgotten pieces, belong to this period. But the 
true energy of soul, necessary to breathe the breath of life into 
his great cantata, was dead within him. His relations with his 
beloved Caroline had begun to assume an aspect which not 
only troubled his mind and depressed his spirit, but filled him 
with the bitterest grief. Caroline had written to say, that, the 
more she turned over in her mind the circumstances connected 
with the tie that bound them, the more she was convinced that 
it was for the happiness of them both it should be severed. 
Knowing well the pain that she would cause the man who 
loved her so dearly, she had for weeks endeavored to prepare 
him for this separation, without finding the foree to communi- 
cate her resolution. She had done so at last, she said, because 
he had announced his return to Prague as nigh at hand, and 
further delay was now impossible. Weber’s despair was heart- 
breaking to witness. He was struck to the earth; and no 
force of will could raise him from his utter prostration. “Be 
not angry, my beloved one,” he wrote to Caroline in his letter 
of farewell, “that I repeat my words of love and sorrow again 
and again. They flow from a pure heart, that knows no other 
wish than your happiness. When time shall have gone by, and 
you can look back in peace and quiet on the broken tie between 
us, you will then acknowledge that never was a truer heart 
than mine, and you will think of me, at least, with respect. 

. - Thanks, my dearest life, my never-to-be-forgotten love, for 


———- 
° ’ 


ONCE MORE IN PRAGUE. 279 


the many sweet flowers you have woven into the garland of my 
life, for all your love, for all your care. Forgive me for my 
excess of love; forgive the passion that may have torn many 
a wound, when it should have soothed and healed; forgive 
me all the sorrow which I have caused you, and which now lies 
so heavy on my mind, though Heaven knows it was through 
no will of mine; forgive me for having stolen one whole sweet 
year of your precious life, for which I would willingly give ten 
of my own, could I but buy it back for you. This true heart 
can only think of you as it has always thought, as it will think 
of you eternally. But do you forget as you forgive? When 
once again you are free and happy, then only give a thought 
to your poor Carl. Farewell, farewell.” 

It may be well divined amidst what a tumult of harassing 
feelings, under these unhappy circumstances, Weber found 
himself once more in Prague, where he arrived on the 7th of 
September. It was evening; and, without waiting for a mo- 
ment’s repose, Weber hurried, in a state of wild agitation, to 
the theatre. Caroline was on the stage, singing the “ Aschen- 
broédel” (Cinderella), a part in which she exercised an irre- 
sistible spell of enchantment over every heart. The unhappy 
lover looked on for a moment; but his rising tears nigh choked 
him, and he rushed out of the theatre. He reached home 
again utterly prostrated. It may be looked upon as a blessing 
for the poor man, in this sad struggle of his soul, that his old 
friend Hans Ginsbacher happened to be in Prague, where he 
was seeking up recruits for the band of a Jager battalion in 
the Tyrol. To this fortunate circumstance may be ascribed 
the fact that Weber was enabled to bear up against his hard 
lot with some degree of courage, at least in outward seeming. 
The duties of his office naturally brought him into frequent 
contact with the woman he had lost, but still loved so fondly ; 
but he found strength to assume the semblance of commonplace 
regard. Caroline, on her own side, was far less able to bear 
up. The real affection she cherished for her lover, which had 
been crushed, in fancy only, by the cold, prudential counsels, 


280 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


the detractions, the backbitings, and the female tittle-tattle, 
which had never ceased to assail her during his absence, burst 
forth again at the sight of him. Her feminine vanity may have 
been piqued also by his apparent well-studied calm. All the 
trammels of her resolve were broken. It soon became impos- 
sible for her not to show, that, beneath the warmth of love, every 
cold consideration had melted away. Weber, meanwhile, used 
all his power to master the feelings, the demoralizing effect 
of which Ginsbacher’s true friendship so clearly placed before 
him. He occupied himself with all his energies to restore the 
condition of the opera, which had again miserably fallen back 
in Clement’s incapable hands. He worlsed night and day. 
He hoped to forget. But it was clear matters could not last 
thus. 

It was on a fine autumn afternoon that Weber consented to 
accept, with his friend Ginsbacher, an invitation from Manager 
Liebich, whose new house was situated some little way beyond 
the gates of the city, in picturesque solitude, and was called 
“The Sentinel,” from the fact of a soldier being painted as 
large as life upon its gate. Tho two friends found a large 
party assembled, in which artists of the theatre mingled, in the 
pleasantest sociability, with members of the highest society 
in Prague. Caroline Brandt was present, of course: she was 
the favorite, the darling, the spoiled child, of all. Here, at 
last, the lovers met face to face. After a moment’s trembling 
hesitation, they looked into each other’s eyes. Somehow their 
hands were clasped together; and thus the tie was once more 
bound, never to be sundered more. After all the storms, 
there was a sudden burst of sunshine. Weber’s happiness was 
restored. 

Back, then, to work went Weber, with another spirit stirring 
afresh within him. His first care was to correct the defects 
which had crept, during his absence, into the conduct of the’ 
opera, and to resume his position in a manner worthy of him- 
self and the public. He resolved to give a work good in itself, 
and requiring care and delicacy of treatment. But in this 


ee 


“THE TWO CALIPHS.” 281 


resolve he was considerably euided by the bias of friendship. 
He fixed upon young Meyerbeer’s opera of “‘ Alimalek,” given 
in Vienna under the title of “The Two Caliphs,” and known 
under other names in various parts of Germany. Upon this 
work the young composer had lavished all his talent, all his 
science. But Weber had already learned, to his sorrow, from 
his friends the Beers in Berlin, that the success of this opera 
had there been small indeed. The critics had attacked it cru- 
elly, declaring all its originality affected, its chief character- 
istic the commonest commonplace, its effects utterly without 
melody. But Weber opined, that, by careful preparation and 
representation of the work, he might bring it forward in so 
worthy a manner as to render a service, not only to his friend 
and himself, but to the public. In order to give the public be- 
forehand a thorough comprehension of the style and manner 
of the young master, he wrote and published, in a local paper, 
a detailed critical notice of the work; the first of the long 
series he was afterwards wont to give to the world on similar 
occasions. The intention was an excellent one; and one, more- 
over, which Weber always defended. Whether such a pro- 
ceeding, however, was correct in judgment, is another question ; 
and certainly it has opened the way, by its example, for a host 
of unworthy scribblers. Nothing was omitted by Weber, at 
all events, that. could secure a faultless representation of his 
friend’s work. All his talent, industry, and zeal were lavished 
upon it. The principal parts were placed in-the best hands ; 
and so content was Weber, generally so difficult to please, with 
his own share of the work, that in his diary he wrote, “ What a 
blessing, were all works placed in hands as faithful, and tended 
with as true a love!” 

The representation took place, after the unusual number of 
eichteen rehearsals, on the 22d of October. In‘Spite of all, 
the opera failed to please. The fine musical technicalities of 
the work were not understood by the public. The effect was 


~ cold. All Weber’s trouble was vain: he had been deceived in 


his anticipations. He had “learned a lesson,” he wrote, but 


282 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


was “awfully angry” over it. Further representations of 
Meyerbeer’s opera, on which the capellmeister insisted, in spite 
of the manager’s opposition, were far more favorably received 
by the public of Prague; and then, and then only, the trusty 
friend wrote to congratulate young Meyerbeer on the repre- 
sentation of his opera. 

The happy change which had now come over Weber’s mind, 
although he was still restless, and dissatisfied with his position 
in Prague, is fully expressed in a letter to Rochlitz, dated the 
7th of November, 1815. “My mind is more at peace,” he 
wrote. “I can work again now; and I employ on my compo- 
sitions all the few hours I can snatch from my duties. But the 
worst of it is, that, day after day, I never can be quiet for any 
length, and only swallow, as fast as I can, the broken scraps of 
time I may pick up. Scarcely do I warm to my work, when I 
must be up and away; and nothing can be more prejudicial to 
true effect in a great work like my cantata. My determination 
to leave Prague is unchanged, although as yet a secret. The 
only pleasure, the only reward, I obtain from my present posi- 
tion lies in my power to show that unrecognized excellence 
needs only to be well set forth to be properly honored.” This 
latter remark is in evident allusion to his production of Meyer- 
beer’s opera. 

Spite of the hinderances to work, over which Weber laments 
in one portion of this letter, and the exertion necessary under 
the circumstances, he evidently must have strained his genius, 
far more than was good for him probably, to complete the 
work, interrupted by his long-unhappy state of mind, but 
which he had so much at heart. He even went through a 
weary course of preparatory study, previously to the composi- 
tion of the great fugue of his finale. He felt how necessary it 
was to prodfice his work before the excitement attendant on 
the late victories had wholly evaporated ; and his benefit-con- 
cert, fixed for the 22d of December, he determined should wit- 
ness the completion of his cantata for representation. He 
spurred his genius on. An iron will supported him. As has 


— se CC 


PERFORMANCE OF “KAMPF UND SIEG.” 283 


been before stated, by the 11th of December the whole can- 
tata was completed. In getting up the music, the love and 
regard. with which Weber inspired all who knew him was dis- 
played in the most touching proofs. Not only every member 
of the operatic company, but all the noble dilettanti who 
played in the orchestra, were ready to perform, the smallest 
services, or to undertake the greatest trouble, in order to for- 
ward their dear young composer’s interests. After as few as 
four rehearsals, Weber declared the cantata to be ready for 
production. The concert took place on the 22d of December. 
The day could not have been more unfavorable. The Christ- 
mas festivities were absorbing general attention. _Weber’s 
“evil genius” was again astir. The rain poured down in tor- 
rents; hurricanes of wind swept the streets. Walking was 
impossible ; and the parties which were taking place absorbed 
the carriages. The hall of the Redoute was but scantily gar- 
nished in consequence ; and all the earlier portion of the con- 
cert passed off before a cold and sulky public. The words of 
the poem were declaimed, in order to give a better comprehen- 
sion of the work; yet still the public was indifferent. But 
when the cantata was given, — admirably performed it was, — 
this indifference was speedily changed into enthusiasm, at least 
such enthusiasm as a public of Prague could show. ‘The effect 
was magnificent. The success which attended the efforts of 
the master to combine a musical picture of great events with 
the stirring feelings those events had aroused was recognized 
at once. Equally applauded by the more cultivated portion 
of the audience, were the tact and talent with which the com- 


_ poser had avoided all the customary effects of the clash of 
' arms, the thunder of the cannon, the cries of the wounded, and 


such commonplace resources, whilst bestowing a general dra- 
matic effect, which swept on victoriously. The introduction 
of the various national airs was declared to be as clever as 
effective ; and all hearts were irresistibly carried away by the 
wonderful contrast afforded in the solemn prayer of the allied 
armies, during the wild, stormy march of the French troops, 


284 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


and the advance of the Prussian Jager, followed by the simple 
and sublime strains of “God save the King!” The applause, 
which burst from every part of the room, was of such a spon- 
taneous and heart-felt kind, that not for a moment could Weber 
doubt of the genuine greatness of his creation. At the con- 
clusion, Gen. Nostitz, who had played so decisive a part in the 
battle of Leipsic, walked up to the young composer, and said, 
in allusion to Beethoven’s “ Battle of Vittoria,’ which had 
lately been produced, “In Beethoven’s music, boys play at sol- 
diers ; in yours, sir, we have heard the voices of nations.” 
After all his troubles, all his sorrows, all his misgivings, Weber 
was satisfied in his inmost heart. The concert, moreover, in 
spite of the prejudicial influence of the little “evil genius,” 
was crowned by a considerable pecuniary success. The year, 
too, which now closed,—the year 1815,—had added most 
materially to the struggling artist’s resources. His receipts 
had amounted to about ten thousand florins Viennese; and he 
had the joy of paying off thereby a great portion of his Stutt- 
gart debts, all of which were at last liquidated in the February 
of the ensuing year. 

Still, however, Weber held to his determination to give up 
his situation at Prague, and either prosecute his long-dreamed 
artistic tour, or accept some other position, superior in consid- 
eration, and more sympathetic to himself, than that which he 
now occupied. But, the more his intention became known, the 
more his friends at Prague seemed to recognize his worth, and 
to exert themselves to make his life agreeable to him. In the 
houses of the principal nobles his society was more and more 
sought. Fine ladies and gentlemen fought for him in their fes- 
tive entertainments. The idea of his departure had a powerful 
effect, also, on his beloved’s mind. Her demonstrations of affec- 
tion and regard became evidently nyore spontaneous and more 
warmly expressed. She testified a sincere commiseration for 
his loneliness, and, in order to secure him a greater sense of 
home-ishness and comfort, induced her mother to allow him to 
board at her house. His nervous system was soon remarkably 


—-—_— ~~ 


THE CARNIVAL AT PRAGUE. 285 


strengthened, his spirit freshened and revived, and a portion 
of that bright, merry, almost reckless humor which had once 
characterized the genial artist, but of which the latter unhappy 
circumstances of his life and the pressure of his late years of 
bondage had robbed him, now came back to him. With this 
return of life, returned also his love of life and life’s enjoy- 
ments. Once more he had the spirit to find pleasure ia the 
bright scenes around him. The masked balls of the Carnival 
once more lured him to their revels; and many a merry 
masquerade jest, to which he was accustomed, in after days, to 
revert with almost childish delight, was invented and executed 
under the influence of his clever geniality. Of all these 
masked balls, those given by Manager Liebich, in which the 
most exclusive aristocracy of the city mingled joyously and 
unconstrainedly with actors, artists, men of science, and men 
of wealth, were the most distinguished for their originality and 
unfailing merriment. For these Weber composed many an 
inspiriting waltz, the memory of which still lingers in old heads 
and old hearts, although these dances have been lost to the 
world. One of the many clever inventions devised at this 
time by Weber was a complete “ Masque,” in the ancient sense 
of the-word, representing the “ Death of the Carnival;” at 
which the musicians had their instruments covered with crape ; 
Caroline Brandt, as a charming young Columbine, was borne 
upon a bier by sorrowing Harlequins; Pierrots followed as 
female mourners; and Weber himself appeared as Death, 
beside the dying Carnival, with the words, “ Eating, drinking, 
dancing, are no more,” upon his scythe, accompanied by a 
variety of symbolical personages. 

Spite of all this re-birth of joyous spirit, however, Weber 
clung to his resolve. The rumor of this determination smote 
the good Liebich to the heart. With tears in his eyes, he 
anxiously asked Weber whether it were true; and, when the 
young capellmeister answered in the affirmative, he entreated 
the cherished artist not to forsake him, with such affecting 
remonstrance that the resolution became a hard one. There 


286 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


is reason to suppose that Weber might have given way to the 
supplications of his old friend, or at least have retained his 
functions for another year, had not a circumstance occurred 
which confirmed him in his purpose. A change had taken 
place in the presidency of the theatre; and in a memorial, 
forwarded to Eiebich by the new president, Weber read, to his 
surprise and bitter grief, that, after all the frequent acknowl- 
edgments of his services which he had received, dissatisfaction 
was expressed with the conduct of the opera since the year 
1812. Weber’s determination to give up his post was now 
irrevocably fixed. In his turn he addressed a memorial to 
Liebich, which was doubtless intended for communication to the 
higher powers. In this able and wholly-unprejudiced paper, 
the young capellmeister gave a detailed account of all his ser- 
vices, of his untiring zeal, of the duties he had undertaken in 
the interests of the theatre, of his exertions, which had cost 
him his health and nigh his life; but with a plain, simple- 
minded truth, a modesty, and an honesty of purpose, which, 
deeply and justly wounded as he was, do the highest honor to. 
his gentlemanly feeling and temper. The old days of irrita- 
bility at wounded vanity, fostered by Franz Anton, were now 
flown. One sentence alone, and that not misplaced, displays 
the wound received. “Did my detractors think,” he writes, 
“that I was a second musical Prometheus to form singers out 
of clay? But, if public opinion is thus to be expressed, I can 
unfortunately only draw the conclusion, that, if Prague is able 
to add to a well-earned reputation, it never is to elevate it.” 
“ Should the dissatisfaction expressed,” he says in conclusion, 
“ever reach those whose respect and contentment can be my 
only reward, my purpose would have wholly failed; and I 
should never be able to meet the expectations of the judicious. 
Better it is, then, with the consolation still in my heart that I 
have fully done my duty with unfailing zeal, that I should beg 
you to place at the head of the opera, as soon as possible, a 
man better capable of satisfying the demands that may be 
made upon him.” Immediately after this memorial, Weber 


RESIGNATION OF THE CONDUCTORSHIP. 287 


sent in his formal resignation of his post, to the duties of 
which he had sacrificed three years and a half of the best 
period of his life. He was pained to the heart to find that all 
his exertions, all his sacrifices, had been in vain. For the first 
time, a truth, which in every step of his career thereafter was 
held before his eyes as a permanent warning, struck him 
powerfully. He learned, by the example of Columbus, of 
Galileo, of so many other mighty spirits, the important lesson 
that the createst aspirations are of no avail when recognition 
fails. Yet from this moment he established for himself a prin- 
ciple, which, throughout life, he was wont to repeat incessantly, 
“ Examine thy heart thrice, and ask whether thou doest right, 
before thou lookest for the approval of thy superiors.” “ With 
such a principle,” he would say, “a man may become great, 
and, at all events, will be honest and true, although he may 
renounce all hope of interest from those above him.” That 
such expressions were in apparent contradiction to Weber’s 
well-known respect for the judgment and countenance of per- 
sonages of rank and position, it cannot be denied; but, with 
him, the worship of power and greatness was but an artistic 
homage to the living personification of ideal qualities, with 
which his fancy loved to decorate the high ones of the earth. 

It was with something of this feeling, that, in the spring of 
1816, he had elegant and handsomely-bound copies made of his 
cantata, “ Kampf und Sieg,” which he sent, through the media- 
tion of persons of influence and note, to the Emperor of Austria, 
the King of Prussia, the Prince Regent of England, the Kings 
of Holland, Saxony, Bavaria, and Denmark, and other sover- 
eign princes. Mingled with the feeling, however, there was 
doubtless also the desire to spread his name and fame in other 
lands. It was the custom of the time, moreover, to lay such 
works of art at princely feet; and no artist thought himself 
humiliated by the acceptance of snuff-boxes, rings, orders, or 
similar acknowledzments in return. Presents of snuff-boxes, 
and jewelry of every kind, came also to Weber in rich store; 
and many a time, on high days and holidays, in years to come, 


288 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


were they spread out to amuse his little boy, who looked on 
the treasures with wonder and delight, as evidences of the truth 
of the charming fairy tales his father loved to tell him. 

The events of this period of Weber’s sojourn in Prague 
were few, and not of any peculiarly-exciting nature. His 
wounded feelings, and determination to renounce his post, 
diminished nothing of his zeal in the execution of his duties. 
Opera after opera was studied, rehearsed, and produced, with 
as much care and love for his art as if his heart had_ still 
been in his thankless task. Among others was the “ Athalia” 
of his friend Poissl in Munich, with the great beauties of which 
opera Weber was manifestly much impressed, and which he 
had the pleasure of seeing appreciated by his usually-cold pub- 
lic. One little incident of his life was the arrival of the cele- 
brated pianist and composer, Nepomuck Hummel. Weber re- 
ceived him with every honor, introduced him into all the aris- 
tocratic houses of Prague, and helped to arrange his con- 
cert with zeal and true artistic sympathy. In writing to 
Gottfried Weber on the subject, the composer thus expressed 
himself about his illustrious rival: “ His best qualities consist 
in his wonderful neatness of execution, his brilliancy, and his 
great powers of endurance. But, apparently, he has never 
studied deeply the true nature of the instrument. He cannot 
play an adagio. Generally, he astounds by his rapid passages. 
But even these are of a commonplace order, as if he feared to 
dare a novelty. He has the public with him, however; and, so 
far, he does right. He is a thorough representative of the Vi- 
enna school of execution; but he is a capital, simple-minded 
fellow, without any pretension or affectation. His last compo- 
sition, a septet, is admirably written; but his concertos are 
very old-fashioned in form.” 

A change was to come. On sending his cantata of “ Kampf 
und Sieg” to the King of Prussia, Weber had begged that 
monarch for permission to be allowed to give a representation 
of this, his last composition, at the Opera House of Berlin, on 
the anniversary of the battle of Waterloo, and for the benefit 


JOURNEY TO BERLIN. 289 


of the invalided soldiers. The permission was granted; and 
Count Carl von Briihl transmitted to Weber the royal assent. 
But, about the same time, he received also the announcement, 
that the hopes he had entertained of an appointment at Berlin 
must be at an end. In spite of all Count von Briihl’s zealous 
intercession in Weber’s favor, Bernhard Romberg had been 
installed in the vacant post of musical director. There can 
be no doubt, from all that can be learned from the most trust- 
worthy sources, that it was precisely Weber’s composition of 
this great cantata of victory, which had most militated against 
his acceptance in Prussian service. It is a well-known fact, 
that the King was surrounded by advisers, who had no desire 
to see any individuals who had in any way taken any share in 
the great work of a nation’s freedom, either by word or deed, 
distinguished by especial favor, or permitted to approach the 
throne. The King himself was, notoriously, in no wise kindly dis- 
posed to such men; and this fact was, in itself, sufficient to ren- 
der the appointment of Weber “undesirable.” Briihl’s efforts 
had been of no avail against the hostile influences which were 
brought to bear upon his application; and he himself, rather 
than compromise the court party, which had led the intrigue, 
felt himself obliged, rather to the disgust of Weber, even to 
speak of Romberg’s appointment with complacency. 

The performance of the cantata had been permitted, how- 
ever; and, on the 5th of June, Weber started for Berlin, for 
the purpose of conducting the rehearsals of his work, accom- 
panied by young Freytag the pianist, who had been studying 
under him for some time past, and who, according to Weber’s 
judgment, was, after Julius Benedict, one of the most talented 
of his pupils. This promising young artist died early. On 
his passage through Dresden, Weber found a letter awaiting 
him, begging him to come over to Pillnitz, where Count Vitz- 
thum, equerry-in-chief to the King of Saxony, had a communi- 
cation to make to him. Weber obeyed; and from the count 
he received, in the King’s name, a valuable gold snuff-box in 
return for his cantata. Little did he think that this casual in- 

19 


290 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


terview would present him to a man who was afterwards in- 
directly to exercise so important an influence upon his destiny. 

Berlin was reached on the 9th; and once more was Weber 
received with friendship and affection into the house of his 
friend Meyerbeer’s parents, who now lived in a splendid villa 
in the Thiergarten, and who always had a home to offer to 
their beloved Carl Maria. And a sweet home indeed he found 
in his quiet chamber, looking out upon gardens and green 
trees, in which an admirable piano had been provided for him. 
In Berlin, Weber was again in the midst of many old and cher- 
ished friends. Another was to be added to the list. One 
evening, at the house of Gubitz, a singular-looking individual 
entered the room, in the midst of a tremendous thunder-storm. 
Strange to say, it was by the glare of the lightning flashes that 
Weber recognized his extraordinary acquaintance of the inn at 
Bamberg, in the year 1811. “This man,” he writes to Caro- 
line Brandt, “ was Hoffmann, the author of the ‘ Phantasie- 
stiicke.’ The effect was very singular. It is true that there is 
the look of a little demon gleaming at all times in his face. He 
has written a new work, called ‘ The Devil’s Elixir; ’ and he has 
given me the first part to read.” In mentioning this curious 
circumstance to Rochilitz, he writes again, “ Apropos, have you 
read the ‘ Phantasie-stiicke ?’ and what do you think of the 
book? To my mind there is much that is admirable in it, — 
a rich, but somewhat exuberant, fancy; but, if I may be par- 
doned saying so, a want of all settled purpose in the carrying 
out of the whole. The perusal has awakened in me the desire 
to take up again my own ‘Artist’s Wanderings ;’ and, every 
now and then, I sketch a page or two. But I cannot write 
alone. I want a friend on whose judgment I can rely, and 
whose approbation would encourage me. Would I could con- 
jure you to my side! ” 

Spite of Weber’s disappointment in his expectations of a 
permanent position in Berlin, he found himself well treated 
by fortune in other respects. One of his great desires had 
been to obtain a “starring” engagement in Berlin for Caroline 


——————— 


SUCCESS IN BERLIN. 291 


Brandt. Briihl, anxious to please him in all he could, soon 
arranged the affair. Mademoiselle Brandt was engaged to 
appear in six parts, at a remuneration of ten louis-d’ors each 
performance, —a very high salary for those days. “ You ought 
to be pleased with your commissioner,” wrote the happy lover, 
“and be aware you owe him several good extra busses on his 
return.” Weber could but be pleased also to find his reputa- 
tion increasing daily. “ All goes well with me here,” he wrote 
again. “The respect and consideration I receive on all sides 
are so great, that they sometimes quite confuse me. Wouldn’t 
the Praguers open their eyes and stare to see how an artist is 
honored here!” 

Theatrical influences, likewise, were no longer adverse to 
Weber in Berlin. Protected by the powerful egis of Briihl, he 
found every hinderance swept away, and his path smooth 
before him. The rehearsals of his cantata thus commenced 
without impediment. The very first of the series gave such a 
high opinion of the work to the orchestra, that its members, on 
their dispersal, trumpeted forth their unbounded admiration 
far and wide. On the second and third rehearsals, it was 
found diflicult to prevent the entrance of the crowd of musical 
men of every description, who were desirous of studying the 
work before its first performance. The last general rehearsal 
was a veritable triumph. Orchestra and singers played and 
sang with unbounded enthusiasm. At every pause, the musical 
men and influential personages who thronged the theatre 
crowded upon the stage, to wish the composer joy, and express 
their ardent admiration; and, at the conclusion, the musicians 
laid down their instruments to join in the universal applause. 
Bernhard Anselm Weber, true to his ancient hostility, had 
done all he could to destroy the effect of the “ young puppy’s” 
forthcoming composition by the production of Beethoven’s 
“Battle of Vittoria” a short time before. But his intention 
utterly failed. Spite of his clever arrangement of the instru- 
ments, so as to modify the noisy effect of the composition, the 
nervous public of Berlin expressed its horror of the “awful 


\ 


292 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 

row,” refused to take to the work of the great master, and was 
only made all the more anxious to learn how Weber had 
treated a similar subject. 

But, though one enemy had failed, the “evil star” had 
taken better measures to damp the eagerly-expected perform- 
ance. Such fearful storms of rain came down, on the evening 
fixed for the execution of the cantata, that the theatre was 
only half filled; and Weber was all the more mortified as the 
receipts were destined to a charitable purpose. Brihl had 
done his best. He had caused the theatre to be brilliantly 
illuminated in honor of the composer, and with the intention 
of giving an unusually-festive character to the whole perform- 
ance. But the result was still a striking one. “First and 
foremost, my beloved life,” wrote Weber to Caroline the fol-. 
lowing day, “I must tell you of the brilliant success of last 
night. Bernhard Anselm’s overture was played in solemn 
silence. Then came my patriotic songs, which created so much 
uproar, that “ Liitzow’s Wilde Jagd” had to be repeated, — an 
unheard-of event in the Berlin Opera House. Then came my 
cantata, which was admirably executed both by orchestra and 
singers, and excited the wildest enthusiasm. I thought, that, at 
the point where “ God save the King” is introduced after the 
battle, the applause would never find an end. The King de- 
spatched Count Briihl to me directly, to tell me how deeply 
moved he had been, and that he desired to hear it once more. 
So, nolens volens, 1 must remain here a few days longer, and 
repeat the work next week. I can scarcely doubt of the suc- 
cess of this second performance, as the enthusiasm was gen- 
eral, and so many people rushed on the stage to congratulate 
me, that I was nigh crushed by the eager crowd of my ad- 
mirers. 

This second concert was arranged. But the “evil star” had 
not sufficiently gratified its malice yet. Weber tells his own 
tale of the cause of this new spite of fate. ‘“ Yesterday,” he 
writes, “I had begun to make my arrangements for my con- 
cert, when, about mid-day, came the news that the world-wide 


ee 


VAIN ATTEMPTS. 293 


celebrated singer Catalani was about to arrive in Berlin. The 
mischief to me cannot but be great. Everybody will be saving 
up his money to hear the great Catalani; and the tickets will 
cost at least a louis-d’or apiece.” On all sides Weber was now 
entreated to postpone his concert, until the Catalani mania 
should have somewhat cooled down. All foresaw that the 
enchantress would lure every coin out of the pockets of the 
easily-inflamed Berliners. But Weber was determined, and 
held good to the day which he had fixed, and which came very 
shortly before the great Catalani concert. He was not to be 
daunted. It was not without sparks of pleasant humor that he 
wrote an account of the result to his beloved. “It was the old 
story, sweet. The previous day the weather had been glori- 
ous. The sun rose on the morning of my concert in unclouded 
splendor. But in the afternoon down came the pouring rain 
again; and all my hopes were soused. After all, however, the 
concert was not so very bad. There is no doubt that the 
Catalani fever lowered my pulse to the tune of at least a hun- 
dred louis-d’ors; but I was grateful to get off without a loss, the 
expenses having been so heavy. The applause once more was 
tremendous, . . . and I had every reason to be delighted with 
the genuine enthusiasm and the devotion shown me.” “ Yes- 
terday,” he writes again, exhausted with the tokens of admiration 
lavished upon him, “I received a letter from the members of the 
chorus, which greatly touched me. ‘They, one and all, refuse 
to receive any remuneration for their services, considering 
themselves honored by taking a part in my composition, and 
fully repaid by my satisfaction. . . . I was presented to the 
Queen of Holland, who overwhelmed me with encomiums upon 
my cantata. This was at a concert at Prince Radziwill’s, 
where I had the delight of hearing the celebrated Catalani.. 
So great had been the success of these concerts, and so 
friendly the manner of the King to Weber at his audience to 
take leave, that his hopes were raised of obtaining the permis- 
sion to bear, at least, an official title, as chamber-composer to 
His Majesty the King of Prussia. Weber was never one of 


294 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


those artists who affect to feel contempt for any distinction of 
the kind: on the contrary, he was always ready to recognize the 
value of a designation, which was of advantage to him in the 
society with which he mixed as an artist, and which, in his 
artistic tours, materially advanced his interests. A memorial 
on the subject was, consequently, presented to the king by his 
ardent admirer and friend, Count von Briihl. The application 
was rejected, as contrary to the custom of the Prussian court. 
Briihl, nothing daunted, again addressed the king, in the hopes 
of obtaining for Weber at least the honorary title of “ capell- 
meister.” But once more a negative answer was returned. 
The bestowal of such a title, it was said, might awaken expec- 
tations which were not intended to be realized. Brihl was 
still anxious to persist, and to negotiate further; but Weber 
himself entreated him to take no further steps, and left Berlin, 
happy, as he wrote, in the conviction that his purpose was not 
unfulfilled, even though princes might not bestow honors on 
him. ; 

On his return to Prague, Weber had resolved to make a 
short stay at Carlsbad; and to that celebrated bathing-place 
he travelled in company with the old banker Beer, and his 
youngest son Hans. On his way through Leipsic, he was 
offered the direction of the opera in that town, upon highly- 
liberal terms, by Kiistner, the newly-appointed manager of the 
theatre. But this offer Weber declined: he was resolved to 
attach himself no more to any establishment which, in its 
practical working, was but a private speculation. There is no 
record extant, to show precisely what were the reasons of 
Weber’s visit to Carlsbad at this juncture; but there can be 
little doubt, to judge from the sequel, that he had been induced 
to*take this journey in consequence of what had passed in his 
interview with the royal equerry Von Vitzthum, on the occa- 
sion of the presentation of the snuff-box from the King 
of Saxony. Court-Marshal Count Heinrich Vitzthum, the 
brother, was the royal director of the theatre of Dresden, and 
was then staying at Carlsbad; and there, in truth, Weber 


PROSPECTS AT DRESDEN. 295 


seems to have been in immediate communication with him. 
The pretext given by the count for seeking Weber appears 
to have been originally the mere engagement of a tenor singer ; 


| but it is amply apparent that he was much struck with the 
| young capellmeister, and felt the advantage which would accrue 
| from securing him for the German opera which was about to 


be organized at Dresden. To his brother, who had assumed 
the duties of his post during his absence, Count Heinrich 
Vitzthum wrote at once from Carlsbad, telling of the offers he 
had made to Weber to undertake thé post of capellmeister at 
Dresden, and of his great desire to secure him. Weber seems 
to have hesitated a little time, relative to the terms of such an 
engagement But it is clear, from further letters, that all was 
arranged satisfactorily between the parties, and that a contract 
was entered into, subject, of course, to royal approval. One 
passage in Count Heinrich Vitzthum’s letters to his brother, on 
the subject of the great advantages likely to be bestowed by 
Weber on the German opera, is sufficiently remarkable. “It 
is the general feeling,” he writes, “among all musical men and 
artists here, as well as in public opinion, that Saxony ought 
now more than ever to avail itself of all the resources in its 
power to attain an exceptional position in its cultivation of 
the arts and sciences, since all hope of earning itself name 
and fame in any other direction is now lost to it forever.” 

There is no doubt that Dresden was then in position to till 
that rich field of Art of which Munich some years later bore 
off the harvest. Of all the cities of Germany it was the 
richest in treasures of Art, the most alluring by the charm of 
its position, the most progressive in outward improvements. 


| At that time, it might incontestably have been made the intel- 


lectual focus of all Germany, and the arena where the great 
spirits of the day might have striven for the palm of honor, 
and attracted the attention and regard of entire Europe. Dur- 
ing the negotiations with Count Vitzthum, Weber meanwhile 
had been enjoying, by the side of the health-bringing springs 
of Carlsbad, the society of some of his choicest friends, among 


‘ 


/ 


296 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


whom were his old allies, the Wieberkings from Munich. But 
the arrangements, which opened to him new prospects of an 
important career, once concluded, he could but feel that duty 
called him back to Prague; and to Prague he journeyed on. 

On his return, Weber found the affairs of the theatre in sad 
confusion. Poor old Liebich — “ Papa” Liebich, as he was sc 
truly called — had entered on the last stage of the painful 
disease from which he had so long suffered, and was lying on 
that bed from which he would never rise. His death was 
expected about the same’time as the termination of Weber's 
engagement; and the stage was soon destined to lose its two 
most genial supporters. Frau Liebich, who conducted the 
affairs during her husband’s illness, was little loved: her 
temper was bad, her manner intolerably imperious. The 
arrangement of affairs, before surrendering the post into the 
hands of the successor, called likewise for a constant strain 
upon Weber’s attention; and thus it came to pass, that una- 
nimity of feeling was lost in the company, and the perform- 
ances visibly deteriorated. Weber was falsely accused of 
openly neglecting the duties of the position he was so soon to 
leave; when, in truth, he was still working hard to produce the 
best effect in his power with his weakened means. Operas 
were studied and produced with as much energy and care as 
ever. Meyerbeer’s “Alimelek” was given, on the occasion of 
the visit of his parents, to their intense delight and satisfac- 
tion. Above all, Weber restored to the stage Spohr’s great 
opera of “ Faust,” which had first been produced at Prague. 
This opera had seized on Weber’s fancy, not only on account 
of its own intrinsic beauties, but of the principle on which the 
overture had been composed. This principle, by which an 
overture is made an expeunder of the feelings of the whole 
opera, and yet an independent instrumental work, was followed 
by Weber in all his later operas. The difficulties of carrying 
it out seemed at first almost insurmountable; but with what 
reniality he has solved the problem, in such overtures as those 
of “ Der Freischiitz,” ‘ Preciosa,” “ Euryanthe,” and “ Obe- 
ron,” all the world now knows. 


DECLINE OF THE PRAGUE OPERA, 297 


As may be well understood, every effort was made by Frau 
Liebich to induce Weber to remain. When all these endeavy- 
ors could not succeed, she entreated him to designate his suc- 
cessor. He commenced negotiations, consequently, with Meth- 
fessen, aman for whom he bore a great esteem ; but, on discover- 
ing, that, even before his last illness, Liebich had made overtures 
to Triebensee, he withdrew from any further prosecution of his 
intention. In this distracted state of affairs, he could but con- 
dole with his successor, whoever he was to be; and nothing 
can give a greater proof of Weber’s kindness of heart, and con- 
sideration for others, as well as of his attachment to the estab- 
lishment by which he stood so long, than the manner in which 
_he prepared all for the unfortunate winner of the prize which 
he relinquished. Not only did he classify and arrange all the 
books, contracts, and general archives of the opera; the de- 
tailed mises en scene; the catalogues of scenery, dresses, and 
“properties ” for every piece: but he wrote long notices of his 
plans, and suggestions for the forthcoming operas to be pro- 
duced; of the chief characteristics of each member of the com- 
pany ; of the system of organization which he had instituted, 
as much apart from the old-fashioned, bureaucratic red-tape- 
ism as from looseness and carelessness of management ; as well 
as useful remarks on the nature and tendencies of the Prague 
public. For this excess of zeal and labor, no call was made 
upon him by the strict requirements of his duty. But Weber 
was animated by his love of Art, his old ties of attachment, 
above all, by anoble conscientiousness. That,in this absorb- 
ing increase of business, Weber displayed but little productive- 
ness is easily comprehensible; but highly characteristic of his 
genius was the fact, that his wonderful adagio of his sonata in 
A-flat was entirely conceived and worked out in his head, 
whilst he thus sat in his gloomy room in the theatre, sur- 
rounded by dusty documents and mouldering account-books. 

It was with a thoroughly-clear conscience that Weber was 
enabled to give up the duties of the post he had filled with 
zeal and energy for so many years. It was not without a 


298 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


heavy heart, and a deep sense of oppression, however, that he 
formally laid his resignation in the hands of the directress. 
With still profounder sorrow did he stand by the death-bed of 
his old friend Liebich, now too far gone for any strong expres- 
sion of feeling, whilst his young capellmeister’s heart was over- 
flowing with bitterness. And sad was the moment when, on 
the 7th of October, the whole body of the company, from or- 
chestra and stage, from high to low, from leading singers 
and first tragedians to carpenters, thronged round his carriage, 
with broken voices and tears in their eyes, to sob to him a 
farewell. But Caroline was by his side. She was to travel 
with him, accompanied by her mother, to Berlin, to commence 
the starring engagement which Weber had there prepared for 
her. ; 

Weber’s reception in Berlin formed a striking contrast to 
his cool dismissal from Prague; and he himself could not but 
feel delighted to witness the astonishment with which his be- ~ 
loved “ Lina” and her mother stood by, and saw the marks of 
respect, admiration, and attachment showered upon him. Carl 
Maria had never appeared to his beloved with such a halo of 
light around him. For the first time, she felt how small was 
her own artistic sphere compared with that of the composer. 
The position accorded to Weber in the great world of Berlin 
made a powerful and most pleasurable impression on both 
mother and daughter; and thus, when one evening, on return- 
ing from a party where the greatest homage had been done 
him Weber took his Lina’s hand, and entreated her permission 
to announce their engagement publicly, both the ladies were 
inclined to welcome as a boon from Heaven the offer which but 
a few months previously they had hesitated to accept. 

Weber had presented his beloved in the houses of all his 
friends; and he, on his own side, was enchanted with the 
magic charm which his Lina’s grace, amiability, and intellec- 
tual advantages exercised on the hearts of all who approached 
her. Everywhere was she received with kindness and regard. 
Her own share in these attentions may be ascribed to the fact 


FRESH LABORS. 299 


that all Weber's friends were already aware of the little secret, 
which was no longer one, and welcomed his beloved with the 
affection they bore himself. Upon Briihl also, and the emi- 
nent members of the Berlin company of the day, Weber saw 
with joy that Caroline had made the most favorable impres- 
sion. All held out the hand to her; for she fascinated all. 
When, at last, she made her first appearance as “ Gurli,” in 
the “ Indianer in England,” her success was instantaneous. In 
a few days all Berlin rang with the praises of the charms and 
talent of “the little Brandt.” Never was “starring ” engage- 
ment crowned with greater success; although the critics of 
Berlin seemed to have laid more store by her graceful and naif 
acting than by her singing. Weber was all the more delighted, 
as her appearance was to be the last in Berlin; and his artistic 
soul was naturally anxious, that, as artist also, she should leave 
an indelible impression on the public of the Prussian capital. 
At last, one afternoon, at a little festive party organized by 
Lichtenstein, who had lately married, the blushing girl con- 
sented to Weber’s wish. By a strange symbolical coincidence, 
—a coincidence which Weber failed not to feel,—a_ total 
eclipse of the sun had been taking place; and, at the moment 
when Weber rose and announced his engagement to Caroline 
Brandt, the sun again shone forth in its full glory. All his 
friends who were present hailed the glad news with the wild- 
est acclamations. And thus the die was cast. The loving 
pair had proved each other, — learned to know each other. In 
trust and confidence they clasped each other’s hands; and 
death alone was now to sunder them. 

On the 20th of November, Caroline Brandt left Berlin to 
fulfil a further engagement, which Weber had arranged for her 
with Count Vitzthum in Dresden. Happy in the thought that 
he was now bound in love and affection for life to one loving 
and beloved being, Weber returned to his labors, and endeav- 
ored to withdraw himself as much as possible from society. 
That he labored hard was very evident. In the few ensuing 
weeks he produced two of his most charming Lieder, “ Die 


300 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


Gefangenen” and “Die frien Siinger,” completed his admira- 
ble sonata in A-flat, wrote the greater portion of his “ Duo 
Concertante” and his great sonata in D-minor, composed a 
“ Divertimento” for piano and gaitar, and, lastly, a great scena 
and aria, at Count Briihl’s desire, to be inserted in Cherubini’s 
“Lodoiska,” for the favorite prima donna Milder. But from 
the fact of his engagement with “ the fascinating little Brandt,” 
Weber had become more than ever an object of public at- 
traction. He could not wholly avoid the invitations,~which 
poured in upon him more than ever, to mingle in society. One 
important result of his appearance in the world was his ac- 
quaintance with Ludwig Devrient, the greatest actor of his 
day. This celebrated man came to the house of Hoffmann, who 
was reading to a choice circle of friends the book of his opera 
of “Undine,” which was shortly to be produced. Devrient 
was even then a shattered man, nervous and ailing: he did not 
zemain long, but rose and went out suddenly, as the reading 
“bored” him. ‘Tales have since been told of vigils and revels 
between Devrient, Hoffmann, and Weber, which are wholly 
without foundation. Weber was no longer the man to give 
himself up to such orgies ; and, moreover, his intercourse with 
Devrient was never frequent. Hoffmann’s “ Undine ” interested 
him much. “My expectations,’ he wrote to his Caroline, 
“were at fever pitch. I thought the music full of character 
ind effect. I was pleased; and I enjoyed the whole. Indeed, 
[ was so impressed, that, immediately after the theatre, I rushed 
to Hoffmann to express my sympathy and congratulations.” 
In the midst of his musical creations, Weber’s literary pro- 
ductiveness was not in abeyance. His musical notices for vari- 
ous periodicals were manifold at the same time. “ I am so 
tired with sitting, so confused with thinking,” he wrote to his 
beloved, “that my head is in a whirl. But there is joy, ex- 
citement, hope for the future, in my heart.” 

Meanwhile, however, the proposed appointment of Weber, 
as capellmeister to the German opera at Dresden, had not 
been neglected by Count Vitzthum. He had addressed a me- 


NEW APPOINTMENT IN DRESDEN. 301 


morial in Weber’s favor to the Cabinet Minister Count Einsie- 
del, and had received a cool and curt answer in return, to the 
effect that “all arrangements for a German opera were in too 
crude a state to admit of any thought of such appointments.” 
But the count was not thus to be turned from his purpose. 
Memorials again were presented by him, arguing against any 
objections or necessity for delay in the organization of the Ger- 
man opera. He took every occasion to prepare not only the 
feeling at court, but public opinion, for the execution of his 
plan. His activity and his correspondence with Weber were 
incessant. At lencth the affair of the appointment was made 
to resolve itself into a matter of amount of salary ; hampered, 
moreover, with the condition that the engagement was to sub- 
sist for one year only. After a little demurring, Weber con- 
sented to the proposed arrangement, although, as he wrote 
with pain, but the strictest truth, to Count Vitzthum, “ without 
any security for the future, it would be almost impossible to 
effect any really important results.” Anxious, in case the ne- 
gotiations in this important matter should come to no favorable 
result, to prosecute his long-cherished plan of a great artistic 
tour, Weber pressed for a speedy decision. It came at last. 
The establishment of the German opera was resolved upon by 
the King; and Count Vitzthum was enabled to address Weber 
as “ capellmeister to His Majesty the King of Saxony.” 

It was on Christmas morning, 1816, that Weber was greeted 
by the letter confirming his appointment. “ What a joyful 
Christmas-box !” he exclaimed. At the same time came two 
other Christmas-boxes also, — a costly ring from the King of 
Hanover, and a splendid snuff-box from the King of Bavaria, 
in return for his great cantata. “Long did I look on Count 
Vitzthum’s letter, without daring to open it,” he wrote to his 
beloved. “Was it joy? was it sorrow? At length I took 
courage. It was joy! So round I went to all my friends, who 
laughed, and made the new royal capellmeister the most rev- 
erential bows. I must’fig myself out now in true court style. 
Perhaps I ought to wear a pigtail to please the Dresdeners: 





302 WEBER’S YEARS OF BONDAGE. 


What do you think? I ought to have an extra kiss from you 
for this good news.” 

Thus, shortly after his matrimonial engagement, Weber found 
himself in a position of distinction and honor, in which he 
could secure the comfort and happiness of her he loved. At 
last the rays of fortune’s sun seemed to extinguish the dusky, 
baneful light of his old “ evil star.” 


END OF VOL. I. 


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